


Boys and Imbroglios

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Sex Work, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis buys himself a ‘friend.’





	1. Access

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so I figured I’d see if anyone else wants it too...
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any Final Fantasy or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

University is stressful enough, especially with how many courses Ignis has managed to cram into his busy schedule, but being so _different_ is the real test of Noctis’ patience. He knows he doesn’t look all that different from his peers. He’s not that much smarter—he just has a particularly devoted tutor that won’t let him be anything less than perfect. He could go for joining a sports team and volleying for popularity, but he has no time or energy, and the popularity game’s already rigged. Noctis would prefer to have no friends than a slew of fake ones.

Ignis helps. Ignis is good. Gladiolus counts too. Noctis tries texting under the school library’s table: _Cup noodle lunch break?_

But it’s a full ten minutes before Gladiolus answers: _Shouldn’t you be in class?_

Noctis dryly returns: _Thanks, dad_ , because the ‘thanks, mom’ joke is reserved for Ignis. Noctis imagines a _normal_ friend, one his own age and not on his father’s payroll, would jump at the chance to play hooky every now and again. Unfortunately, it stays only in his imagination.

At least he’s not the only one at the library in the middle of a Sunday. Every once in a while, he catches another student glancing up at him, but he never gives so much as a smile in return. Many of the girls tend to giggle over him, pointing far too obviously. He figures that’s how normal stressed-out students cope: girls. Or whatever they’re into. But sexual frustration is another thing Noctis has to push down and never look at, because anyone he tried it with would probably go brag to all their friends about bagging the prince. Even for basic relief, he doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want to be used for his _title_. 

It sucks being dry. Sometimes he wonders if he’ll die alone. Then he remembers the Council will force him to marry some nice girl he wouldn’t have looked twice at, and she’ll be so happy, not because of Noctis, but at the chance to become queen. He finishes out the daydream of eventually sleeping in separate rooms because they never had anything in common in the first place—she’d just pretend to like him for the first few months. He’s lonely even in his dreams.

He tells himself he’s being stupid and rereads a paragraph about computational physics for the third time in a row. If he’s not going to have a friend or lover, he might as well have decent grades.

* * *

He’s at campus right through dinner, though Ignis tells him there’s a (likely vegetable-ridden) pasta dish waiting for him at his apartment. He texts that he just has to finish up the last dregs of an essay, and Ignis texts back both approving of his work ethic and disapproving of his inattention to his diet. Sometimes he feels like he can never win. Ignis reminds him that if he stays much later, the Crownsguard will come out to protect him, even though Noctis is just as capable of protecting himself after dark as in the day. He can summon a sword in a heartbeat and warp right through a bullet. But it’s still not enough—he still has mandatory training on the few days he’s not in class, and he still has Gladiolus or Nyx often popping up to shadow him. Ignis always makes sure to schedule ‘rest time,’ but by the time those few precious hours come around, Noctis is always too exhausted and has nothing better to do than just plop down and sleep.

He tries to squeeze in a quick game of King’s Knight at his study table, but it’s not as fun with the sound off, and he can tell that everyone who passes by peers over his shoulder to look. Finally, he packs his stuff into his bag and beelines for the washroom. It feels ridiculously sad to game on a public toilet seat, but if he goes home to do it, he’ll either have Ignis over his shoulder or his bed waiting. He feels like he could top the online charts in King’s Knight if he just played more. He whips his phone out as soon as he’s in the washroom and locks himself in the first stall, putting down the seat and sitting, fingers flying over the buttons. He turns the sound on, just a fraction, and reminds himself to buy some headphones. Gladiolus would probably veto the idea and tell him he has to be constantly aware.

Noctis is peripherally aware there’s someone in the stall next to him. There’s a bit of banging—he assumes they’re collecting their bag off the floor and will be heading out. He loses himself too much in his score to keep track of them. Then he beats his first round, and while the congratulatory screen is flashing, he realizes the person next door is still going. And the small, slapping sound is a constant rhythm. A short, muffled groan interrupts it, and feet shuffle—Noctis glances sideways. He can just barely make out the sneakers under the divider. All four of them. 

The game prompts him for another round, but its question goes unanswered. Noctis stares at the shoes. Someone hisses, someone else makes a little ‘oomph.’ Then the deeper voice mutters, almost too low to hear, “Fuck, you’re _tight_ , Argentum.”

Noctis’ cheeks are on fire. ‘Argentum’ moans, but it still sounds stifled—maybe the other guy has his hand over Argentum’s mouth. They’re in the boy’s washroom, so it’s probably two other men, and the voices sort of sound like it, but there’s no way to really know. Both pairs of shoes are facing the same way—the back wall. So Argentum must be bent over the toilet, leaning against the wall, while the second man pushes into him—into his _tight_ entrance.

Noctis knows he should probably leave. They probably heard his phone, or maybe they were too caught up in themselves to notice. Whether they know he’s there or not, he shouldn’t _stay_. But it’s not his fault—they’re the ones in public. They’re having sex _in public_. They’re probably not going to wind up in the press for it like he would. They just get to study, lock eyes with one another, relocate to a washroom, and fuck their problems out. Noctis’ stomach twists in an upsetting mix of jealousy and arousal. Now that he knows what those slapping sounds are, they’re strangely... _erotic_.

Noctis turns his phone off. He knows he won’t be using it again. Argentum makes another noise, and Noctis wonders if the second man has his hand over Argentum’s mouth. Maybe that’s why Noctis can’t hear the full extent of Argentum’s moans. He sort of wishes he could. He knows that’s messed up. The noises sound like they’re coming faster. The nameless man hisses, “ _Yes_.”

Argentum lets out a strangled noise, and the noises stutter erratically, one of the shoes bracing forward, and Noctis thinks that’s it—they’re finishing. They’re quiet for a minute, except for heavy breathing, and then the second one asks, “How much to ditch the condom next time?”

Argentum pants, “Um... I’d rather... not...”

The other man grumbles while Noctis’ head spins. _How much_ makes it sound like there’s money involved, and there’s some shuffling, rustling, and Noctis thinks gil’s being passed over. He’d thought it was just two students messing around, but apparently not. Their pants both look like the standard school uniform—simple, black trousers not all that different from the ones Noctis had to wear in high school. This university is an expensive, upper class one, and it requires as high standards as his other private schools. Apparently, prostitution still slips in under the radar. 

Noctis watches the back pair of feet turn around—the ones he thinks belong to Argentum. He doesn’t catch the name of the other guy, the one who paid, but watches those shoes leave the stall and hears them putter to the sink, then out of the washroom. Noctis is left sitting there with a conspicuous tent in his pants. He doesn’t know what to do about it. If they can have sex there, he could certainly jerk off, but he can’t afford the chance of witnesses. Maybe if Argentum leaves, and he’s quick, he could get away with it.

But Argentum’s lingering. Noctis wonders if Argentum feels ashamed or it hurt or something, which somewhat lessens his own arousal to think about, but he doesn’t hear any crying and the shoes aren’t shaking. It sounds like Argentum’s just catching his breath. Noctis tries not to listen to it. Noctis tries to think of infinitely non-sexual things, like the horrifying moogle Iris once drew for him or the cup noodle hat Gladiolus got him last birthday as a gag-gift. He sits there so long that his legs get stiff. He keeps casting his mind elsewhere, which he’s gotten pretty good at over the years, until he can’t take it anymore and needs to leave.

He stands up and pushes out of his stall like it’s no big deal, just for the stall next to him to open at almost the exact same time. Noctis looks over before he can stop himself. The student in the other stall blinks wide blue eyes at him, looking utterly shocked, then colours a bright pink across a smattering of freckles. The man’s about Noctis’ height, just a little trimmer, with a mass of sunshine-yellow hair and a face way too cute for Noctis to handle at the moment. He looks vaguely familiar—Noctis thinks they were in the same class in highschool. Obviously, the blond followed him to university—Argentum’s wearing the same uniform, just wildly disheveled, shirt buttons misaligned and dark jacket wrinkled enough to give Ignis nightmares. There’s a white-green band around his wrist and a bag over his shoulder. He just sort of stares at Noctis, then hurriedly jerks towards the sink and splashes water on his face, pointedly not meeting Noctis’ eyes in the reflection of the mirror over it. Noctis goes to wash his hands just for show.

Argentum practically bolts before Noctis gets to say a single word. Not that Noctis had anything good to say. Seeing Argentum just made his problem come back. He splashes his face too, using only cold water.

* * *

It’s hard to sleep at night, which for Noctis, is saying something. He usually gets home and passes right out—if Ignis isn’t there to feed or tutor him—but tonight, he just lies awake in bed. He stares up at the ceiling, replaying it all in his head.

He knows he’s probably _supposed_ to be unilaterally against sex work, and maybe he is in other circumstances, but Argentum _seemed_ fine. They were both consenting adults. Just two other students who might’ve fucked anyway. But maybe Argentum wanted a few gil and the other guy had some. Noctis can’t help the little voice inside him that keeps wondering: _how much?_ Or was it a one time thing? Maybe he has it wrong. Maybe the other guy was a sugar daddy, which isn’t _really_ the same thing. Or a boyfriend with deep pockets. Or just... something.

He’s pretty sure it was just straight up sex for gil. And even though there are probably plenty of loose people around the campus who’d have fun for free, apparently, Argentum’s worth the price. The guy did say that Argentum was tight. Noctis doesn’t know what that would feel like, but just thinking about it makes him shiver. He rolls over under the covers, angling his hips just that little bit down into the mattress. When he thinks of the whole scene, _especially_ the debauched view he got afterwards, his crotch stirs again. He can’t seem to stop it. He tries to imagine what it would feel like to sink into that pliant body, to push Argentum forward into the wall, to wrap a hand around his mouth and stifle all his moans. It’d be a hell of a way to unwind after his studies. 

Not that _he_ could do it, of course. He grinds into the mattress anyway, hiding his blush against his pillow, even though he’s alone and swamped in blackness. His father would kill him—the press would destroy him. If he ever got caught. Ignis would be so disappointed. Gladiolus might, just _might_ , pat his back and spur him on. Again, that’s assuming they all found out. If he pushed it, maybe, just _maybe_ , Ignis would line up and vet a slew of ‘professional’ options. But he’d be more likely to say that Noctis should find someone he liked outside of money.

Except no one likes Noctis for _Noctis_. Even Ignis and Gladiolus were put there for money. They’re still on his father’s payroll. Argentum would at least be on _his_ , and at least it wouldn’t have anything to do with being a prince—anyone could buy sex. Apparently, other ‘normal’ students do. It’s still bad. But it’s _something_. And he could set it all up on his own, and maybe no one else would ever have to know.

He diverts one hand inside his pajama bottoms as he goes, temperature spiking and arousal building. He can’t stop picturing it: if he’d just worked this out then, if he’d cornered Argentum at the sink and asked _how much?_ Surely he could pay whatever it is. Surely Argentum would take him. He’s not bad looking. He’d be respectful. He’d take Argentum back into a different stall and ram into him so hard—

Noctis groans and comes into his hand, staining his pajama pants—it’s ridiculously fast, but it’s been way too long. He’s so pent up. He doesn’t feel much release, just on edge. Because he knows he could have it a lot _better_.

He wants a shot at Argentum’s ass. And maybe he’s willing to be reckless and stupid to do it. Those blue eyes haunt him even in his dreams, and when he wakes up, sticky and sweaty, he knows he wants to try.


	2. Monday

They don’t have any classes together, but Prompto still sees the prince around their campus on a regular basis. It’s probably because he can’t get that prince out of his head, has wanted to meet that prince for _years_ , and no one looks better behind the lens of his camera. He doesn’t actually _take_ those pictures, of course. He’s not a stalker. But he wants to. Every time he’s snapping photos around the school and Prince Noctis winds up in his frame, His heart clenches and he tries to wrench away.

But he doesn’t see that prince for a few days after the ‘incident’. Maybe it’s because he’s always bolting home as soon as he gets the chance. He isn’t in many classes, and he doesn’t really _need_ to be on campus as much as he usually is—it’s just nice to be around other human beings, unlike home. But then he makes the mistake of lingering for lunch in the cafeteria. He’s standing in line for the salad bar when Noctis Lucius Caelum pops up at his side, looking every bit as handsome and eye-catching as he always is. Sure enough, several extra pairs of eyes in the large hall are on them. Or maybe it’s just Prompto’s nerves exaggerating everything. He waits for Noctis to brush past him and move on with life, but instead, Noctis asks, “Argentum?”

Prompto’s heart skips several beats. The prince _knows his name_. Or at least, his surname. Which is more than he expected or deserves. It takes him way too long to manage a weak, “Yeah?”

“Can we talk?” Noctis’ clear eyes flick back towards the lines of tables. A few people look hurriedly away. Back to Prompto, Noctis adds, “ _Alone_?”

 _Talking alone with the prince._ Prompto’s practically gone numb. 

Somehow, he answers, “Sure.” Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. His stomach’s doing too many flips to fill up anyway. He abandons his place in line, following when Noctis stuffs his hands into his pockets and wanders off. 

He guides them out into the lobby, then around the corridor at the back that just leads to the janitor’s office and closet. It puts them out of view of prying eyes. Then Noctis rounds on Prompto and bluntly asks, “You sleep with students for money?”

Prompto’s entire body goes cold. Panic grips him, exponentially worse than that first time Leon suggested it and Prompto poured over all the possible consequences. He knew he’d be in trouble if he ever got caught. He was sure none of those students would report it. But they’re also not that careful. He knew he could be expelled. But he didn’t think _the Crown_ would come down on him. The thought of a full inquiry temporarily wipes his mind clean. 

Then it opens like a floodgate, and he splutters, “I’m sorry! I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t think about the legality, but it’s all consensual and clean, I swear! We’re all adults! I might’ve slept with them anyway, but then this guy suggested, and I just thought, I mean, things are expensive, and—”

Noctis barely bats an eyelash, just cuts in with: “How much?”

Prompto blinks. “Uh... what?”

“How much,” Noctis repeats, voice flat and unreadable.

Prompto’s head swims. He stumbles, “Um... like... a hundred for oral, two hundred for... all the way...” Noctis looks ever-so-slightly surprised. Prompto wonders if that’s too expensive or too cheap. Snow told him once he was too cheap. But it felt weird to ask for more, and maybe it’ll help now—maybe his rates will turn out so low that the Crown won’t want to bother with it. Or maybe he’s super over-priced himself because he’s just one plain, boring commoner that barely managed to get into their university anyway and it still blows his mind that people will _pay_ for him.

Noctis shifts his feet and switches to: “How long?” When Prompto just sort of stares, he clarifies, “How long for a... ‘session’?”

Prompto still doesn’t really understand. “Uh... until they come...?” Which sounds stupid to say. But so does the whole conversation. Prompto’s sure he’s blushing. But he’s too embarrassed to tell if his cheeks are burning any more than the rest of him. 

It sort of helps that Noctis looks just as confused. “Then how much does an evening cost?”

Prompto’s never done ‘an evening’ and would probably base it on how much he’d want to hang out with that person anyway. He arbitrarily makes up: “Three hundred?”

“Do I need to pay up front or will you take a cheque?”

Prompto _stares_.

There’s no way Noctis just said that. Noctis shifts again. He looks vaguely... uncomfortable. Or maybe Prompto’s reading him all wrong, because there’s no way Prompto’s reading this right. 

He squeaks, “Cheque is fine.” Even though he wouldn’t charge Noctis at all. Six, _he’d_ pay to get _Noctis_. His mouth feels full of peanut butter and he can’t seem to say that aloud. He just sort of mumbles, “Your Highness...”

“Noct,” Noctis corrects, like they’re _friends_ and have just skipped straight to nicknames. “What’s your full name, by the way?”

“Prompto.” Which is probably stupid to admit, but it’s not like Noctis couldn’t look him up anyway and still have him investigated. “Prompto Argentum. But, um... Your—Noct...” He trips over the name and stops there.

Noctis asks, “Is there a trial or something?”

Not usually. But that makes sense. Prompto glances towards the end of the corridor, but they’re still blessedly alone. He half expects the Crownsguard to come swooping in at any moment and drag him off to jail. Or maybe they’re waiting for him to lay his hands on the prince. Except Noctis basically just asked for a sample. Is that entrapment?

Awkward and still semi-paralyzed, Prompto steps further back, into the very corner, cast in shadows away from the main hall’s high lighting. Noctis follows him and sets a hand on his arm, then looks up at him, eyes questioning, like checking if it’s alright. It’s more than alright.

Prompto leans in. He swallows down his nerves, tells himself this is like anybody else and not the man of his dreams, and brushes his lips tentatively over Noctis’. He hears Noctis’ breath hitch. He doesn’t know how much experience Noctis has with kissing. But he knows he’s supposed to be _professional_ , so he takes over. 

He licks along the seam of Noctis’ lips, and when Noctis opens, Prompto slips his tongue inside. He keeps his eyes closed, but a part of him wants to _look_ at Noctis, wants to savour the close-up view of the most handsome guy in school. Maybe even the city. Noctis’ voice, low and supple, is just as perfect. He even _smells_ hot. And he welcomes Prompto’s tongue with a small flick and light suction that makes Prompto shiver. He should’ve known Noctis would be a good kisser. Of course Noctis is good at everything. 

Noctis presses closer, tilting his face to the side and pushing in enough that Prompto’s flattened back against the wall, but not enough to crush the air out of his lungs. He wouldn’t mind if Noctis did. He probably wouldn’t mind anything Noctis did. Noctis’ hand touches Prompto’s hip, then pulls hesitantly away—Prompto thinks he’s holding back. And Prompto doesn’t want him to. Prompto nips at his bottom lip and kisses him _harder_ , urging Noctis to do the same, until they’re making out like desperate lovers instead of strangers. For those few minutes, Prompto feels like he’s been blessed by the Six.

Then Noctis gives him a final nip and pulls away, half-opening dilated eyes and breathing hard. Prompto’s still breathless. He can’t believe that happened. He wants to ask if he passed the audition. But Noctis asks first, “Did I pass?”

It takes Prompto a second to realize what’s happened—Noctis thought _he_ was trying out. Even though he’s hotter than Ifirit’s fire and cooler than Shiva’s ice. Prompto mumbles, “Yeah.”

Noctis cracks a small smile. It’s one of the few Prompto’s ever seen on him, including posters and interviews. It makes Prompto wonder if he could earn _more_. 

While Prompto recovers, Noctis reaches down to fish his phone out of his bag. Then he’s asking, “Can I have your number?”

“Y-yeah...” 

Noctis passes his phone over, and Prompto types it in, still reeling. He doesn’t have the strength to ask for Noctis’ in return. As he taps the last digit, Noctis adds, “And this is private, right? Like, obviously, no one can know.”

Prompto nods frantically. “Of course! I wouldn’t tell a soul!”

Taking his phone back, Noctis says, “Cool.”

And they just sort of stand there, looking at one another for a moment, Noctis probably wondering what he just committed to and Prompto wondering when he’s going to wake up.

Then Noctis leaves, and Prompto tries not to faint.

* * *

At least he gets a couple days to acclimatize to the idea, although he spends most of them convinced he made the whole thing up. He’s just finished up his final class for the day when he gets a text from Noctis. If it’s someone playing a cruel joke on him, he’s going to kill them.

It just says: _Where –N._ Which Prompto has to think about before he decides it means “Where do we do this? –Noctis.” That doesn’t make it much easier. Noctis probably thinks Prompto’s some sort of pro that knows exactly what he’s doing, but he’s _not_. It’s just a casual thing that started up and is now sort of too lucrative to stop. He doesn’t know what to say.

He should’ve figured the campus wouldn’t work. It’d be too risky. It didn’t really matter that he and Locke almost got caught once, but if _the prince did_ , it’d be headline news. And he can’t take Noctis back to his place, because Noctis probably lives in an enormous Citadel suite with a slew of servants and Prompto lives in a shithole. 

He finally answers: _Anywhere you want._

A second later: _How about my place?_

 _Sure._ That sounds amazing. But couldn’t they get caught there, too? Won’t there be a dozen guards?

_Are you free tonight?_

Not really—he needs to edit ten photos by Wednesday into black and white masterpieces. But for Noctis, he immediately sends: _Sure_.

 _Cool. I have an hour left of Imperial History. Where you wanna meet?_ Before Prompto gets a chance to respond, Noctis adds: _It’s boring as fuck._

Prompto could believe that. His stomach feels tight just thinking about it—he couldn’t be paid to sit through a class on _the Empire_. But he pushes that down and just says: _Sucks. I’m still at school—can meet you here._

_Library square, one hour?_

_Sure. :)_ He feels so stupid for adding an emoticon.

 _Great. ;)_ Somehow, it’s less lame when Noctis does it. When another text doesn’t come through, Prompto just keeps staring at the last one. He got a winky face from _the prince of Lucis_. 

His stomach’s all full of butterflies.

* * *

He whittles away the hour by snapping pictures of absolutely everything, because he’s afraid that if he stops moving, his brain will eat him up. No matter how great a shot he finds, his brain always winds up back to _Noctis_. He at least tries to steer his young, perpetually horny mind away from the fact that he’ll get to _have sex with Noctis_ , and instead conjures up random questions—like how many classes does Noctis have to take? Probably way too many. And they’re probably all the dull political ones. And he probably has to pay attention and take his own notes, because Prompto’s never seen him study with anyone else. Prompto’s never even seen him _talk_ to anyone else, other than the occasional person cornering him and trying to force a conversation. Granted, it’s not like Prompto sees him all the time. Maybe Noctis has a dozen friends, but he just figures it’s less messy to bang Prompto instead. 

Even thinking that much gets Prompto going. He’s sitting by the fountain, adjusting his shutter for the spray and trying not to blush, when somebody greets, “Hey.”

Prompto practically jumps out of his skin. He snaps up off the bench, fingers clutching his camera for dear life. He looks at Noctis and tries to force a smile like everything’s perfectly fine and he’s not a total freak, and he chirps, “Hi!”

Noctis nods his head back the way he came, starting. “You ready?”

Prompto’s not even remotely ready but is very much rearing to go. He answers, “Sure,” and then busies himself putting his camera back into his bag and hoping his blush is getting better, not worse. If Noctis is picking up on the weirdness, he’s not saying anything about it. He just starts casually walking away, and Prompto hurries to follow.

Students are dotted everywhere around the courtyard, milling in and out of the library and other buildings, some sitting on benches by the planters and others strolling towards the fountain. Noctis waits until Prompto’s keeping stride with him before stepping closer and dropping his voice to say, “If anyone asks, let’s just say we’re friends.” Prompto nods. Noctis says it so easily. Prompto doesn’t think anyone would assume anything untoward from just seeing them walk together, but he also thinks Noctis being his _friend_ is almost as unbelievable as the truth. He doesn’t protest. 

Noctis takes them out to the parking lot, where a sleek black car is waiting. Prompto has the quick, irrational fear that he’s actually being carted off to jail. Or to the forest to kill. Then they reach the doors, and Noctis opens the one in the back, ducking inside. He shuffles onto the far seat and gestures to Prompto.

Prompto hesitates for a fraction of a second, then slips inside. He doesn’t lock the door, just in case, but the driver’s seat must have an auto-lock, because the nub clicks down. A tall, thin brunet with glasses glances back at them. He’s maybe a few years older than them. Prompto should’ve guessed the prince would have a driver. Noctis says, “This is the friend I told you about, Iggy. Prompto, this is Ignis, my advisor.”

Wearing a neutral frown, ‘Ignis’ says, “It’s nice to meet you, Prompto.”

Prompto returns, “Thanks. Uh, you too.” And he hopes he doesn’t sound as stupid as he thinks he does. Ignis just nods and turns around again, pulling the car out of the parking lot. Prompto’s mildly surprised that a dozen other cars don’t pull out to follow them. 

For the first few minutes of the ride, Prompto doesn’t say a thing. He fidgets in the plush back seat, noting how nice and slick and _comfortable_ the car is, and trying not to look at either of the other occupants. In the corner of his eye, he can see Noctis leaning against the window and looking out it. It’s incredibly awkward. Then they reach the shopping district, and Noctis says, “I wanna stop into a convenient store to pick up snacks.”

The rearview mirror shows Ignis’ frown. “That hardly sounds nutritious...”

“Sorry, Specs; Prompto doesn’t eat vegetables.”

Prompto stiffens, and Noctis shoots him a quick look somewhere between pleading and intense. Prompto doesn’t dare contradict him. Ignis’ frown deepens, but Prompto tells himself that they were never going to be friends anyway. A royal advisor could never be pleased with a lame, commoner tag-along. At least Noctis seems pleased when Prompto keeps silent. A minute later, they’re pulling over to the curb, and Noctis is nudging Prompto to get out. He’s relieved when Noctis follows him, rather than speeding off into the night. 

Ignis gets out and waits by the car, but his eyes follow them as they duck into the small shop. As soon as the door’s closed, Noctis tells him, “Thanks.”

Prompto answers, “No prob, dude,” then immediately clamps his mouth shut because he can’t believe he just called the prince _dude_.

Noctis doesn’t seem to mind. He skims the potato chip isle, pulling out some nacho-flavoured ones and checking, “Which ones do you want?” It’s all beyond Prompto’s usual diet, but he grabs a sour cream and onion oven-baked bag. Then they’re at the cooler, gathering root beer, and they reconvene at the counter. There’s a random assortment of games in the case behind it. While the cashier rings up their items—apparently too bored to notice that she’s serving the _prince_ —Noctis asks, “Do you game?”

“I like to.” But then he has to qualify, just in case Noctis asks about a particular title and decides he’s lying, “But I can’t always keep up with the new stuff...”

“Have you played the new Justice Monsters spin-off?”

“Nope, just the original a few times at an arcade. It’s super fun.” He’s also not that good at it. But, like with most games, he’d _like_ to be.

Noctis tells the cashier, “And two copies of Justice Monsters X.”

With a little sigh that makes it clear they’re annoying her, she fishes a key out from under the counter. She practically throws their copies onto the table. The price on the register skyrockets, and Noctis adds, “And three hundred cash back.”

The cashier blinks. Noctis pulls his wallet out of his bag and brandishes a card that probably has the wealth of the whole country on it. Prompto wonders vaguely if he’s getting three hundred gil of taxpayer money or if Noctis has his own family account or something. He vaguely remembers reading something about the prince taking up a summer job before the semester started. In the face of three hundred gil _and_ what he thinks is a video game _for him_ , it’s hard to care.

When the cashier’s finished counting out the bills, Noctis collects it all, which is probably smart—they can’t have a witness seeing him pay a ridiculous amount to another student, even if it doesn’t seem like the cashier realizes who he is. But he does pass Prompto one copy of the game. Prompto stuffs it into his bag and babbles, “Thanks! I mean, you didn’t have to—but I super appreciate it—”

“S’fine, I wanted to try it anyway.” Noctis carries the bag of snacks back to the car, and Prompto follows like a zombie in love.

* * *

They drive to an apartment building, and at first, Prompto thinks it’s a _hotel_ , except there’s no reception space and no one in the lobby. The inside of the elevator alone is nicer than anywhere in Prompto’s apartment. They ride up to another apartment that isn’t exactly as huge or fancy as Prompto feared, but is still distinctly _nice_. Ignis takes the ride with them, even following them inside, but then Noctis rounds on him.

“Was kinda hoping for some time with _just_ my bud, Iggy.”

Ignis quirks an eyebrow, fixated solely on Noctis. “I understand, but as none of your retainers quite _know_ him yet...”

“I’m not a kid anymore. And what’ve you all got Gladio training me for if I can’t handle some skinny student my age? He could have five knives hidden, and I’d still have a bigger one.”

Ignis looks unimpressed with Noctis’ point. Prompto’s horrified to think they consider _him_ a threat, but he stays out of it and lets Noctis talk. After a short staring match, Ignis begrudgingly acknowledges, “Very well. But in the future, I would advise you to know people a little longer before you invite them over, and in this case, I still expect caution.” He turns to Prompto to add, “This is no offense to you personally, by the way. His Highness simply has to be careful.”

Noctis scowls, but Prompto squeaks, “No prob; I get it.” He really does. He’s surprised when Ignis actually heads back around for the elevator, leaving Noctis and Prompto in the spacious living room with their shoes off. Noctis’ black couch looks like something out of a magazine, the television appropriately large. The place is pretty tidy—Prompto still doesn’t know if Noctis is a tidy person or if he has a slew of maids.

For a moment, the two of them just stand there, not quite looking at one another, Prompto politely eyeing the furniture even though he wants to ogle the hot prince he somehow got home with. When Prompto does run out of scenery to look at, he finds Noctis conspicuously quiet. Maybe even a little awkward. It feels like Noctis doesn’t know quite what to do, which isn’t good, considering Prompto doesn’t either. Finally, Noctis asks, “So... how does it work?” 

Blushing already, Prompto shrugs. “Whatever you want, dude.” There’s that word again, totally not fit for a prince. Noctis looks away and scratches the back of his head.

Then he goes to set the bag of snacks on the coffee table. He pulls out Justice Monsters X and peels off the plastic-wrap as he beelines for the television. When the case is clear, little bits of refuse all over the floor, he kneels down and pulls the console out of the cabinet below the television. Prompto remains where he is.

Noctis sets up the game, digs out two controllers, heads back to the couch and flicks on the television. It isn’t until he’s popping open the first chip bag that he asks, “Wanna play for a bit?”

It’s the most bizarre kind of foreplay anyone’s ever offered Prompto, with or without the gil. But it’s one hundred percent his kind of scene. If Leon had just invited him over to game a few months ago, the whole gil situation probably never would’ve come up. But now, Prompto’s so glad it did. 

He comes to join Noctis on the couch and takes the controller that’s offered to him, then a handful of greasy chips. An explosion of sound lights the television. Noctis, player one, hits _start_.

* * *

They play for an absurdly long time, right through the first bag of chips and into the second, which is way more than Prompto should eat, but Noctis eats most of it anyway. Noctis wipes the cheesy powder onto his uniform pants and just keeps playing, like some immature teenager instead of the adult future king. He’s not what Prompto expected. And he’s _damn good_ at video games—he kicks Prompto’s ass in almost every race, even though neither of them have ever tried the game before. Supposedly. The fast-paced combat racing game is nothing like the arcade titles Prompto’s tried. He picks it up fairly quickly, at least enough to cream the NPCs, but after a while, Noctis still starts heckling him. The first time Prompto serenades Noctis’ lose with laughter and a chuckled, “Dude, they _wrecked_ you!” he stops right afterwards, sure he’s going to be kicked out.

But Noctis groans, “Shut up,” and starts the next level, a light grin twisting his plush lips. He even elbows Prompto and proclaims, “You’re goin’ down in this one.”

It doesn’t matter who wins: so long as one of them completes the track in first place, they’ll advance to the next stage. They’re competing anyway. They’re on the third level of the second cup, onto a particularly lengthy track—according to the minimap—when Prompto’s car explodes on the first lap, and his life counter declares him dead to rights. They’ll re-spawn him for the next one, but for the next three enormous laps, Noctis is all on his own. Noctis laughs, and Prompto counters, “S’all you, man; no pressure!”

Noctis rolls his eyes, grins, and keeps going. His eyes have to stay glued on the screen, because a second’s distraction could send him careening over a bridge or slamming into a building. The NPCs are unintelligent but merciless. Even with half the screen taken up with the _you lose_ sign, Noctis’ half is plenty entertaining.

For the completion of the first lap, Prompto just watches, absently munching on chips and downing pop in between. He’s got too much adrenaline coursing through him from the first cup to relax back into the couch, but the downtime does give him a minute to think. The first thought is how bizarrely _comfortable_ he is. How nice it all is. And then he feels guilty, because on top of getting snacks, and games, and eye candy, he’s getting _gil_. And not doing a thing to earn it.

He glances at Noctis, risking a head-on stare, but Noctis is still zeroed in on the screen. As far as Prompto can tell, Noctis hasn’t put any moves on him. And in Prompto’s albeit limited experience, men their age aren’t too subtle when it comes to wanting sex. He wonders if Noctis is just waiting for _him_ to do something. He probably shouldn’t. But he doesn’t know _how_. It’s weird enough that they’re at Noctis’ apartment without the lack of signals. 

After a long debate over whether or not he should risk anything, Prompto hesitantly puts his hand on Noctis’ leg. Noctis’ eyes flicker down for a split second, then a truck slams into him and he swears, back to the game. He doesn’t say anything to Prompto. Prompto bites his bottom lip and chews it, stalling, sucks in a deep breath, and pushes on. He curves down to Noctis’ inner thigh, lightly stroking it, feeling Noctis tense beneath him. He pauses, waits until Noctis relaxes, then draws up to Noctis’ crotch and tentatively curls his fingers around it. Noctis breathily asks over the revving engine, “You trying to make me lose?”

Prompto immediately withdraws his hand, but before he can get out an apology, Noctis quickly adds, “I didn’t say stop.” So Prompto puts his hand back and turns to face Noctis properly, applying a little bit of pressure with the heel of his hand and palming the growing bulge there. Noctis spreads his legs a little wider. Prompto’s heart is pounding. Noctis slowly hardens under his attention, and that amazes him. Prompto keeps massaging it until Noctis hoarsely announces, “I’m doing the next race alone.”

Prompto mutters, “Sure.” He doesn’t really want to play again anyway. He was enjoying it. The game’s great. Playing with Noctis is great. But _playing with Noctis_ is an even deeper fantasy. Prompto’s so busy being impressed with Noctis’ body that he doesn’t have the brain space to be impressed with Noctis’ distracted gaming skills. 

At a certain point, even that’s not enough anymore—feeling the prince’s hard cock straining at him through two layers of fabric. When he presses his thumb down on it, Noctis hisses, and Prompto knows he’s running out of time to tease. So he weaves under Noctis’ semi-outstretched arm and leans over Noctis’ lap, breathing out over the bulge. Noctis’ breath hitches. Prompto spreads his lips and presses into Noctis’ closed cock, mouthing away at it. The taste of Noctis’ pants doesn’t even bother him. Noctis lets out a wavering groan that goes straight to Prompto’s own cock. 

Unable to hold back anymore, Prompto slips off the couch. He pushes the coffee table away, crawling between Noctis’ legs and making room. Noctis looks down at him, hazy-eyed with half-lowered lashes. Prompto kind of wants him to keep playing, because it’s bizarrely hot to have video games and sex all in the same moment. But Prompto doesn’t protest when Noctis pauses the game and puts the controller down. All of Noctis’ attention falls to Prompto. Prompto unclasps Noctis’ belt, but before he pulls it away, he asks, “Can I...”

“Yeah,” Noctis answers. As Prompto slides the belt off, Noctis pushes down his fly and bunches down his boxers. Prompto watches Noctis’ stiff cock catch and bob out of its confines, jutting out towards him. It’s long and thick, lightly veined, a little brown but pink around the crowning tip. Prompto spares a minute just to drink in the close-up view, because he knows he’s going to use the memory later.

It’s a chore not to touch himself. He puts both hands to work on Noctis, reaching out to spit in his palm and wrap around the shaft. Noctis twitches in his grasp. Prompto leans in to kiss the head. Noctis moans wantonly and drops a hand into Prompto’s hair, carding back through it, enough to make Prompto blush and glow. He swirls his tongue around Noctis’ foreskin and delights in every noise Noctis makes, holding back a fair few himself. 

Prompto indulges himself way longer than he should. He doesn’t know how much stamina Noctis has, but he knows that he can usually make men come pretty quickly once he’s got them in his mouth, and he doesn’t want this night to end too soon. He teases Noctis for as long as he dares, just running his tongue along it, sliding his open mouth along the side and letting it slap his face. After all the chips and pop, the salty, bland taste is a surprisingly welcome change. He showers Noctis in sloppy, open kisses, until Noctis tightens a fist in his hair and murmurs a shaken, “ _Prom_.”

It’s an easy nickname. But Prompto plays it in his head as the prince calling him a cute petname in bed. It makes his hips buck forward, but he makes them stop, wills himself not to turn and hump Noctis’ leg—this isn’t supposed to be about his pleasure. It’s all about _Noctis_. But Noctis is so _hot_ , and Prompto enjoys lapping at his cock way too much.

At Noctis’ unspoken order, Prompto opens wide and takes the head into his mouth, swallowing it down. He has to pause there, because Noctis bucks into him, but Prompto still has a grip on the base that keeps him from choking. Noctis mutters, “Shit, sorry,” and settles, but Prompto can tell he wants to again. Maybe he doesn’t have much experience with blowjobs. Even though Prompto’s sure half the population of their school would happily line up to blow him. Yet _Prompto’s_ the one on his knees for his prince. He’s the one that gets a mouthful of _Noctis_. He tells himself he’s going to savour it. He moves slowly further, taking in more and more across his flattened tongue, swallowing and adjusting. When he reaches his hand, he lets go, but holds onto Noctis’ thighs instead, just in case. Then he wills down his gag reflex and starts taking Noctis down his throat, stopping each time Noctis’ hips stutter. By the time he’s got his nose buried in the black hair around the base, the corners of Prompto’s eyes are watery. He couldn’t take any more if he wanted to. He hums once around the massive girth, then starts to pull away.

Prompto goes deliberately slowly, determined not to choke and look like an idiot and even more determined to make it last. A few bobs in, Noctis starts petting through his hair and moans, “ _Prompto_.” Prompto shivers in delight and sucks with everything he has. Noctis bends over him, groaning hard. Prompto keeps going, thrusting on and off and sucking and licking and pouring everything he has into getting Noctis off, until Noctis is crying out and digging blunt fingernails into his skull. Noctis bursts while he’s still engulfed in Prompto’s mouth, and Prompto happily swallows it down. He’s peripherally aware that he forgot to put a condom on, but as Noctis pours load after load down his eager throat, he’s grateful for it. All he can think is that he’s filling his stomach with royal cum, and that’s almost enough to make him cream his pants. His eyes flicker up to watch Noctis right through the orgasm. Prompto’s absolutely certain that Noctis is the best-looking guy on the entire planet.

Prompto doesn’t pull off again until Noctis is shuddering and spent. He gives it a kiss when he’s finished and tries to lick up all the saliva that escaped his soaking lips. Noctis groans as he cleans up his mess and tucks his prince away.

That just leaves him with a hard-on, but he’s not about to bother Noctis about it. He’s still wondering how he’ll hide it when Noctis suddenly grabs his collar and jerks him up. Prompto is pulled unceremoniously onto the couch, and Noctis instantly turns into him, kissing him hard and flattening him back into the cushions. Noctis doesn’t seem to care that he just came in Prompto’s mouth. He makes out with Prompto and drops a hand to Prompto’s crotch, squeezing fiercely. Prompto’s cry is muffled in Noctis’ feral kiss. Around a slew of them, Noctis asks, “Can I touch you?”

Prompto can barely manage, “Y-yeah, whatever you... want...” And then he’s stuffed full of tongue. He hears as much as feels his belt unclasping. Then his fly’s coming down, and he’s got a hand in his underwear, wrapping around him, squeezing him and dryly pumping him. He doesn’t even care that it chafes. He’s so close anyway. It’s the fact that it’s _Noctis_ as much as it is the hand job that undoes him. He shivers and clutches at Noctis’ shoulder when he comes, painting Noctis’ palm and his own underwear. He doesn’t care. It’ll be worth the shame of walking home with stains.

Noctis keeps kissing him after his orgasm. Prompto becomes a lazy, boneless mess. Noctis eventually peters out, and Prompto’s able to pant, “You... didn’t have to do that...”

Noctis gives Prompto another kiss and asks, “Is it okay that I did?”

“Fuck yeah.” It was _awesome_. Prompto can’t believe Noctis is hot, good at games, _and_ generous. It’s wild.

Noctis is wild, but he calms down, eventually slumping next to Prompto, leaving them both to just bask in the heady afterglow. The game’s pause music is still going and makes for weirdly perfect ambiance. 

Noctis suddenly mutters, “Shit, I forgot a condom, sorry—”

“It’s fine.” For Noctis, it really is. Noctis gives him an apologetic look, and Prompto adds, “I’m clean. I got tested last week, and... that was sort of my first time without...”

Noctis’ face washes crimson. He admits, “...It was sort of my first time, so..” He makes no mention of with or without a condom. Prompto feels unduly special. 

Prompto blurts, “I’ll stay clean, I promise.”

Noctis just sort of looks at him. There’s a semi-awkward silence again, during which Prompto keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Noctis to kick him out and send him home. He did his job; he should probably leave. But Noctis... doesn’t.

Noctis finally asks, “Do you, uh... want another round—” Prompto opens his mouth, but Noctis rapidly finishes, “In the game, I mean, like, another race.”

“Oh. Uh. Sure.” It comes out dull because he’s stunned, but inside, he’s ridiculously happy. “But, could I, uh... use your washroom first...?”

Noctis is still beet red. “Right. Sure. First door down.” He nods towards the hall to their right. Prompto gets up to go.

When he’s as fixed as he can be, he comes back. They eat more and beat the second cup, this time with Prompto in hard-earned second place.

* * *

When it’s completely dark outside the tall windows, and Noctis’ phone is blowing up with texts he’s ignoring, Prompto begrudgingly says what Noctis must be thinking: “I’d better go home.”

Noctis doesn’t look too happy about it, but he doesn’t protest. He gives Prompto the three hundred and then some, which Prompto feels horrible for taking but too awkward to not take. He just sort of numbly stands there while Noctis puts more prizes into his palms.

Noctis even calls and pays for a cab. Prompto’s still in dreamland for the whole ride home. A game, a great gaming session, food, gil, and a hand-job from his long-time crush. It was pretty much his best night ever. The only thing that taints it is his guilt over the money. But that’s how it started. And maybe that’s all Noctis wants. A reason to keep it detached. If it weren’t for the money, that would’ve been... Prompto doesn’t even know. Friends? Fuck buddies? Something else with more commitment. This keeps it no-strings.

Noctis has zero obligation to ever contact Prompto again.

But Prompto really, really hopes he does.


	3. Hand-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I originally had more planned for this chapter, but these first scenes got out of hand, so now I’m just gonna split it up so it doesn’t take you a month to get an update. OTL

“I’m not going to throw them away, you know,” Ignis scolds, nodding towards the coffee table littered with empty chip bags and crumbs. Noctis is too tired to answer, so he just yawns. Ignis releases a long-suffering sigh, and Noctis follows him out to the elevator. Noctis makes a mental note to clean up when he gets back, but he knows that if he doesn’t, Ignis will. There’s very little chance the refuse of his amazing night will last until tomorrow.

It was better than amazing—better than and _way_ past expectations. Noctis had a great sleep afterwards, even though his mind was racing through it, not really thinking anything productive, just conjuring recent memories. His first blow job blew his mind. And the gaming wasn’t bad either. Gladiolus and Ignis both play with him occasionally, but only for short bouts, and it’s not as inherently _fun_ —Gladiolus can’t keep up and turns into a sore loser, and Ignis either beats him too soundly or piteously goes easy on him. Prompto was a perfect second place, and Noctis thinks he really was _trying_ to be first. Which is perfect. Noctis doesn’t want anyone going easy on him just because he could destroy their lives, or in Ignis’ case, just because he’d rather being doing something else and sometimes Noctis won’t let it end until he’s won. 

On top of that, Prompto looked _damn good_ doing it. At times, it was actually hard to stay focused on the screen, because Prompto looked too cute for words. And he looked even better on his knees.

Noctis sucks in a breath and tries to will his brain away from a certain sunny blond. Ignis glances over at him, but then the elevator dings, and they’re stepping out into the parking lot. Ignis’ black car is waiting—not _quite_ as handsome as the Regalia, but it’ll do. Noctis climbs into the backseat behind the passenger’s side—according to Ignis, the safest seat. As they pull out of the garage, Ignis reminds him, “Don’t forget, you have a council meeting at seven tonight.”

“Joy,” Noctis grunts. It’s his worst day of classes too—they’re back to back until the campus closes, and they’re all dull, monotonous lessons that Noctis would never willingly sign up for. Unfortunately, the council doesn’t care much for his will. Ignis kindly resists giving Noctis a _look_ over his comment.

The next few minutes Noctis spends in his usual morning ritual of trying to will himself properly awake. After a while, Ignis randomly notes, “It is good to see that you’ve finally begun to make friends, Noct.” Before Noctis can protest, Ignis adds, “Your own age, I mean. Naturally, Gladio and I consider ourselves your friends, but it might be good for you to expand your circle. Within reason, of course.”

“You’re only a few years older than me,” Noctis mutters. But he knows that’s not the point. Ignis and Gladiolus are _paid_ to be around him. And Ignis doesn’t know that Prompto is too.

Noctis doesn’t reveal that. He spends the rest of the ride in a comfortable silence, pleased, at least, that Ignis is okay with his new ‘friendship.’ Things would be a lot more difficult otherwise.

When they reach the school, Noctis drags his heavy bag and heavier body out of the car, yawning again as Ignis wishes him a good day and promises to return later to pick him up. Then Noctis is left to trudge to his Lucian Economics class by himself. As usual, five of his classmates giggle and wave at him when he sits down, four stifle jealous glares and pointedly turn away from him, two get the jitters, and the rest have gotten used to him and let him just blend into the background. The professor shows up three minutes late—not _quite_ enough for Noctis to have fallen asleep at his table.

He makes it halfway through that first lesson before he finds himself texting underneath the desk: _Hey, when can we do it again?_

He doesn’t get an answer back right away. The professor leaves an equation on the board for them to copy down, then paces the isles, staring at different students as though just waiting for them to misbehave. Her eyes clearly catch Noctis subtly checking his phone, but she only frowns and doesn’t say anything. He _knows_ anyone else would have it confiscated. But he’s the prince, and he can safely type out: _If you’re cool with another one, of course._

He still doesn’t get an answer and doesn’t send a third. He’s disappointed, but he’s not needy.

He’s a brooding mess by the time the lesson ends. He’s in the hall on his way to his second class when his phone goes off, spouting: _Sorry! I was sleeping!_

Then, _Of course! Any time you want!_

_I mean, of course we can do it again. But you don’t have to buy me a game this time, haha. I’m free tonight._

Noctis pauses, stepping aside and out of the student traffic to just scroll through and enjoy the messages. He can see the moving ellipses from where Prompto must be typing another, but they keep disappearing and popping up again. He waits for Prompto to finally spit out: _Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful; I love the game! Super appreciate it. Okay I’ll stop bugging you now I promise._

Noctis can feel a rare smile tugging at his lips. He toys with the idea of telling Prompto it’s fine to send a whole bunch of texts—it’s not like anyone else is competing for his text time. But that sounds too lonely. He types out: _Can’t tonight; busy running the country_ , but then deletes it instead of sending it, because he’s not sure it reads as sarcastic as he means it. The last thing he wants to do is make Prompto think he’s super into the crown-prince thing. Finally, he answers, _Busy tonight. Friday?_ Not as energetic as Prompto, but better short and sweet than stupid or pompous. The ellipses pop up again. They waver for a bit.

Then they turn into: _Sure. I’m all yours. :)_

Noctis stares at the message. With the memories fresh, he can easily picture Prompto’s genuine, dazzling smile replacing the two dimensional emoticon. He’s suddenly aware that his pulse has jumped. It’s hammering away.

He waits out a deep breath before he sends: _gtg, class._ And it’s not at all what he’s thinking, but if he doesn’t end the moment, he’ll never make it to—

He already forgot his next class. Prompto answers with a simple, _Bye_.

Noctis swipes out of the chat app to find his timetable. He won’t be surprised if Ignis notices an abrupt descent in his grades starting yesterday.

But it’s already worth it.

* * *

By the time Friday rolls around, Noctis a tight ball of tension that desperately needs a break. He spent half of Thursday night—in between one meeting after the other—convincing his hovering retainers that he could handle a trip on public transit. He knows if he takes Ignis’ usual ride, Ignis will be joining them wherever they go. Ignis isn’t pleased, but Noctis _makes_ Gladiolus detail his last crushing defeat to Noctis’ perfected warp strike. He still fully expects a plain-clothes Crownsguard to pop up somewhere, but hopefully, they’ll keep their distance and leave him alone. And hopefully Prompto won’t notice, because Noctis knows it’s weird.

Noctis knows his request is weird. But Prompto said he was _all Noctis’_ , and Noctis will pay for the whole evening. Surely the rules don’t dictate that that’s spent only at his apartment. Surely it’s okay to get a get little air. He needs it. He finds Prompto waiting by the fountain, just like last time, playing with his camera. As soon as Noctis is at his side, Prompto’s jerking up, blossoming into a glowing smile and a blush that covers half his freckles. He offers an instant, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Noctis returns. He waits for Prompto to tuck the camera back into his bag. Then he double-checks, “Can we go somewhere else?”

Prompto looks up sharply, all big, blue eyes. Before he can guess something sleazy like a rundown motel or risky like the park, Noctis clarifies, “Uh, I mean, before we... y’know.” He thinks _he_ might be the one blushing now, but he tries to hide it, and hopes he does an admirable job. He’s got a long history of hiding emotions from the press. Hopefully that’s finally paying off in real life. 

Prompto just sort of _looks_ at him, but Noctis doesn’t explain. The sex was great— _really_ great—but the game part was fun too. And so was just... _hanging out_. He knows that’s part of what’s been haunting him for the last few days—feeling alone again, isolated, after having a small taste of that after school friendship all his other peers probably have. They probably all partied themselves out in high school and are just drowning in the excess of college, but for Noctis, it’s been missing for _years_. He knows that’s not what Prompto’s for. Not what Prompto sells. But he figures it’s easier than sex, and he’ll still pay, so he’s hoping Prompto won’t say no.

Prompto doesn’t. Noctis suggests, trying to sound confident even though he’s feeling anxious, “Like, a few rounds at the arcade?” Prompto just looks confused—Noctis scratches the back of his head and tries to justify: “I’ve just had a stressful week, y’know? So, I sorta need to get out of the campus and house for a while...”

Prompto squeaks, “Uh, if you want me to meet you later...”

Noctis can feel his expression darkening with disappointment, “I mean, if you don’t wanna come—”

“It’s not that! I just don’t wanna impose—”

“It’s not imposing; I want you to come.”

Prompto shuts his mouth. Noctis is pretty sure he phrased that badly but doesn’t want to try again, because a small grin is tugging at Prompto’s lips, and he finally agrees, “Alright. I mean, if you want me to, sure. I’ll go to an arcade with you.”

Noctis’ stomach is acting up again. He says as coolly as he can, “Great. I’ll pay for the whole evening again, of course—”

“You don’t have to do that!” Prompto hurriedly interrupts, looking mortified by the suggestion, but Noctis shakes his head.

“No, I’m dragging you around. It’s still using up your time.”

“But—”

“Prom, I’m paying.”

Prompto shuts up again. And he doesn’t protest the nickname. He bites the corner of his lip, which might mean he’s holding something back, but definitely means he looks adorably endearing. Noctis has to break the spell first. 

He nods towards the parking lot, where the next bus will be showing up any minute, and Prompto takes the hint and follows him out.

* * *

Public transit is a nightmare. At least now that he’s had more exposure to shared schooling, albeit private ones, it’s less horrifying than the first and last time he ever took a bus, when his father made him go with Cor—and an enormous ring of Crownsguard soldiers—to prove a point about being spoiled. At least this time everyone isn’t staring unabashedly at him, probably because he doesn’t have that very ring of intimidating officers. With Prompto at his side, he feels almost _normal_.

Then he remembers they’re not normal, and he lifts his hand higher along the metal pole he’s holding onto so he and Prompto’s fingers aren’t touching anymore. Their sides still are, but that can’t be helped—the bus is packed with students. Each stop lets out a few more, giving slightly more breathing room, but never enough to clear up any of the seats. Someone would probably get up if they recognized him, but most of the other students seem too tired to notice or care, and the other civilians probably don’t see him in his school attire often. It helps him blend in. And he doesn’t look all _that_ different from most people, while Prompto’s a blond ray of pure sunlight at his side. Four stops down, Prompto even starts humming something low, and it takes Noctis another two stops to realize that it’s the national chocobo anthem. He almost snorts. He wants to tease, _“Dork,”_ like he would if Ignis or Gladio did something that ridiculous, but he has to remind himself that Prompto doesn’t know his sense of humour. Prompto might take it as an insult. So Noctis just keeps the affectionate thought to himself. Even Prompto’s voice is cute.

When their stop comes up, Prompto’s the one to notice first—he tugs at Noctis’ sleeve, and Noctis shuffles towards the door, having to squeeze through the crowd. The street’s almost as busy, but Prompto navigates it easy, strolling over to the next corner and turning down the hill. Noctis follows, wondering absently how many times Prompto’s been to this particular arcade. It’s the same one he was thinking of, but he might’ve missed the stop—he’s only been a few times. Normal people, with open schedules and whole groups of friends, probably go all the time. They walk the short distance not-quite-in silence, because the dinner rush has started and all the restaurants around them are buzzing with life. Noctis hasn’t eaten yet but isn’t hungry—he craves _fun_ more than food. And besides, abruptly inviting Prompto to dinner at a restaurant would probably be weird. Not for him. But he doesn’t want to creep Prompto out.

They reach a dark building plastered in posters and neon lights, and as soon as they step inside, they’re swallowed up in the pounding music and constant shouting. The place is almost full. It makes Noctis wonder if they should’ve gone to the smaller one at the mall a few blocks past the Citadel, but that would’ve taken up another chunk of time that he could spend gaming with Prompto.

Besides, Prompto looks great in the dimmed lights and flashing colours, and the stifling heat of so many moving bodies already has him loosening and popping open his collar. Noctis finds himself doing the same. He has to lean in to make himself heard over the din: “What do you wanna play?”

“You’re the boss,” Prompto tells him, smiling and looking ready for anything. The way Prompto says it _gets_ to Noctis, in a weirdly pleasant sort of way that’s the exact opposite of what responsibility normally has him feeling. He has to shake himself out of it.

He counters, “I was trying to get _away_ from being the boss of everything for a night.” 

Prompto laughs. He nods like he understands, then points to one of the few open machines nearby. “How about the ol’ classic beat ‘em up?” The artwork on the side is old indeed—Noctis remembers playing the series with Gladiolus when he was still too young to have an _official_ Shield. Noctis promised that he’d someday give Gladiolus a knock out to rival their characters, to which Gladiolus had grinned and growled: _“Go for it!”_

That was forever ago, but Noctis answers, “Sure. If you’re okay with me being Cloud.”

Prompto lightly elbows his side and comments, “You got a thing for cute blonds, huh?” But then he immediately blushes and frowns, spluttering, “Uh, sorry, I mean—I’ll be Tifa! She’s the hottest one!” And he drops his bag at the machine’s feet, squaring up to take a joystick, clearly avoiding Noctis’ gaze. Noctis didn’t get a chance to answer. He didn’t think of it that way. He just thought Cloud was a hero, the one who reminded him most of his dad, and that was what child-Noctis secretly wanted to be.

That’s way more embarrassing to admit than the blond thing, so Noctis lets the comment slide and joins Prompto at the helm. He fishes a few coins out of the bundle in his pocket—courtesy of Ignis, once Noctis explained where he was going and promised to be safe and not stay out too late—and pops them into the machine. The wildly deep-voiced announcer barks the title and flashes to the character selection screen. The available options bounce on their heels, the men all poised to punch and the women all bouncing ridiculously. When they’ve both made their choice, a loud, five-second countdown begins.

Then they’re dropped onto a two-dimensional depiction of fictional slums, and Prompto’s _on him_ with a roundhouse kick that sends his poor hero careening back into a flower cart. Noctis mashes B until he’s up again, whips out an enormous sword, and runs for Prompto with a vengeance. Prompto takes several hits before he manages to dodge roll away, squawking indignantly, “You’d hit a girl?”

Noctis parries without missing a beat, “You asked me to.”

“I thought this was a cooking game, I swear!”

Noctis laughs, but he stops when Prompto regains control of the match, picking up a potion that takes him back to full health. It puts him back in concentration-mode. For the briefest of seconds, Noctis considers letting Prompto win, because maybe that’s the polite thing to do with a stranger you want to sleep with. But that’s not the kind of person Noctis is, and Prompto’s clearly giving it his all, so Noctis does too. Noctis wins by a grand total of three health points, which has Prompto groaning loudly as the victor’s declared. Noctis can’t help gloating: “You never stood a chance.”

Prompto quips, “Hey, you might’ve won the battle, but the war’s still going.” He grins good-naturedly. It’s the perfect attitude. He turns to survey their other options, and when a racing booth not far from them opens up, Prompto points and coos, “Ooh, let’s try that one!”

They relocate their bags under the plastic seats of the fake car, a screen stretched across the windshield and two steering wheels waiting for both of them. Noctis inserts a few coins, then slams his foot onto the pedal. On Prompto’s half of the screen, his car’s shooting forward. Noctis’ timing must’ve been a fraction off, because Prompto’s yellow Cadillac obtains a boost power-up and shoots into the lead. 

The track is a simulation of Lucis, littered with pedestrians, slower cars, and a steady sideshow of baby carriages, stray dogs, and rogue hot dog carts. Despite his complete lack of driving experience, Noctis picks up the maneuvering quickly, and he pours his all into beating the traffic. Beside him, Prompto’s leaning fully over the wheel. He manages to dodge almost everything that’s thrown at him. He might’ve lost their last game, but the handling of this car must be more to his liking, because Noctis can’t seem to overtake him. An annoying number ‘two’ stays branded on the bottom of Noctis’ screen, while the two of them leave the eight computerized players in the dust. 

Three minutes later, Prompto zooms over the finish line a full block ahead of Noctis. Noctis swears under his breath, and Prompto snickers, “Not so smug now, huh?” Which stuns Noctis for a split second, because he’s not used to people taunting him _back_. Gladiolus is the closest, but he’s different. Prompto’s not from the Citadel. He’s a _commoner_ , and he grins at Noctis in total sass.

The smile falters when Noctis doesn’t answer, which jolts Noctis into action—he elbows Prompto’s side and ribs, “No fair; you come here all the time to practice!”

Prompto splutters in instant, obvious relief, “Nuh-uh! I’ve never played this thing in my life!”

“Suuure.”

“Would this face lie?” Prompto bats his lashes and smiles so sweetly that his cheeks dimple. It’s a dopey sort of puppy-dog look, and it makes Noctis laugh. 

He decides for the next one: “Okay, let’s try one where we’re on the same team.”

“Afraid I’ll break the tie?”

“Afraid _I_ will, and you’ll be sullen all evening.”

Prompto smiles like he’s never been sullen in his life. Even more than that, Noctis is glad Prompto accepts the ‘all evening’ claim. They relinquish the racing booth to a group of teenagers waiting in the wings, and they wind through the tight-knit rows of whirring machines until they spot an open one with no ‘versus’ sticker. An option pops up for instructions, but Noctis decides for both of them, “Nope,” and hits start.

An airship pops up at the top of the screen, cruising idly back and forth, dropping oddly geometric cargo in alternating blues and reds. Noctis moves his control stick to find he can control the blue ones—at least until another red one falls. The game turns out to be a bizarre rendition of two-player Tetris, where they have to work together to keep their mountain of goods from reaching the stratosphere. They lose a lot of points at first, then get into the groove of it, calling off instructions to one another until they’re in complete harmony, lowering their stack of cargo every three or four blocks. Their last life blinks dauntingly on the screen, but they get too good to lose it, and there’s no end in sight. Finally, Prompto says what Noctis is thinking: “Okay, this one’s kind of lame.”

“What, you don’t want to be a port master when you grow up?”

“Pfft.” Prompto goes a step above their elbowing and leans over to nudge Noctis with his shoulder. “I was totally going for a masters in stacking boxes, but now I think I’d rather be the secretary that orders them, so I can just cancel the whole damn order!”

Noctis snorts and takes his hand off the control stick, letting the four-package square drop where it is. Prompto follows suit, and they collect their stuff in unison, moving on while the game finishes for them. They’re long gone by the time it gives them a game over.

Shooting aliens is more Noctis’ style, and they wait out a young couple for their turn with the cheap rubber rifles. They skip the instructions again, but it’s hardly needed in a simple shooter. A squad of sword-wielding, overly buff aliens drop out of a space ship, and Noctis and Prompto point and tap their single triggers. Green goo explodes all over the screen. The aliens keep coming, and they keep shooting. They last three rounds before they lose, and then Noctis is feeding it more coins while Prompto waits with his gun already pointed. As a new round begins, Prompto promises, “We’ll get ‘em this time.”

Noctis grunts, “Damn straight,” and takes the first shot.

With a little bit of practice under their belts, they fall into a rhythm, each taking care of their respective sides of the screen but covering each other when the bigger aliens that take several shots come in. They work as well together on it as they did the port Tetris game, and when they do win, they do it in a landslide. Their highscore even prompts them to input initials. Prompto suggests, “NAP. Like... Noctis and Prompto.”

“Or like _nap_ ,” which is sort of representative of Noctis too, but Prompto doesn’t need to know that. “How about LCA? Lucis Caelum Argentum?”

“Just anything but ‘ASS.’”

Noctis can’t tell if it’s because that’s immature or unoriginal—the scoreboard’s already got three ASSs, likely from preteens. Noctis hesitates for a moment before just going with NAP. Which isn’t that great. But there’s probably not a lot of great they can do with three letters. Which is a stupid limit for a two-player game. If being a prince was actually as cool as Noctis thought it might be when he was five, he’d have the character limit upped to at least ten. 

Their score slots in halfway up the list, but more importantly, a ticket thrusts out of the side. Prompto collects it to read, “One free film from any photobooth. Sweet!” He passes it to Noctis, then corrects, “Well, better than nothing, anyway.”

Noctis takes it and shrugs. It does sound like a lame prize, but he’s not going to waste it. After the full-throttle shooting round, Prompto’s worked up a slight sweat under his collar, and his well-styled hair has started coming undone. Noctis likes it tousled. He likes Prompto’s uniform rumpled. He likes the way Prompto looks at Noctis like he can’t wait for them to crawl into a cramped photobooth together. Throat feeling a tad dry, Noctis decides, “Let’s do it now.” Prompto’s eyes go wide, face flushing, but Noctis rephrases, “The photo,” and heads off before Prompto’s rosy cheeks can make it any worse.

They pick a photobooth in the back, big and clunky with a floor-length black curtain on it, and they shuffle inside onto the hard bench. Inserting their ticket into the pre-paid slot brings up an automatic timer, warning them with a three-second count down. It’s not enough to do much, but after the first eye-eating flash, the screen shows them their first picture, where Prompto’s completely cross-eyed and has his tongue touching his nose. Noctis burst into laughter, and the next photo shows that. The next one has Prompto giving him bunny ears, so Noctis returns the favour, huddling in close, and then Prompto turns to give him the sort of gooey-eyed look that this booth probably gets all the time. Noctis does it too—he puts his arm around Prompto’s shoulders and cups Prompto’s chin like the cover of a bad romance novel. But when the next flash goes off, the cliché look falls off Prompto’s face.

He glances down at Noctis’ lips instead, and Noctis’ breath quickens. The moment catches up with him. They’re so close, and Prompto’s so _warm_. Prompto gives Noctis a tentative kiss but startles at the flash. Noctis pushes past it and slams into him. Noctis kisses hard, purposeful, and Prompto moans and opens up to take him.

The next few shots are all of them making out, but Noctis can’t stop—he even finds his hands roaming, moving from Prompto’s waist to his ass, cupping the tight curve and squeezing. He knows it’s too far, but Prompto groans and threads his fingers into Noctis’ hair. Prompto seems completely into it. And that makes it such a drag when the photobooth loudly pings its finish, shocking them apart. It displays two-dozen tiny pictures, telling them to pick six to keep.

Noctis’ body doesn’t care and wants to keep going. But Noctis; mind knows he can’t. They’re in public. Someone could interrupt at any moment. And besides, he does want pictures of Prompto. 

He suggests, “You take three, I’ll take three?” And when Prompto nods, he taps on two where Prompto’s leaning into Noctis’ touch and looking sexy as hell, then hesitates and selects a third—one of the goofy ones from the beginning, where Prompto looks like an adorable dork that Noctis can innocently show his retainers.

Prompto sheepishly selects the mutual bunny ears one, one of their kiss, and the romance novel parody. The booth emits an awful grinding noise, and they sit and wait in awkward silence for a solid minute while their photos process. Noctis keeps his eyes on the screen, because if he keeps them on Prompto, there’ll be a media scandal.

The pictures that finally come out are tiny and glossy. Noctis pockets them and offers, “I’ll cut them out at my place.” Which opens him up to look at Prompto and ask, “You wanna go back now?”

Prompto nods emphatically and breathes a husky, “Yeah.” They get out of the booth and _go_.

* * *

By the time they reach Noctis’ place, the edge has dulled, but the underlying _want_ still thrums in his veins. Keeping their hands off one another on the bus felt almost impossible. But it was probably smarter than the pseudo-privacy of a taxi would’ve been. It’s hard to resist even in the elevator ride up. When they’re safely inside, Noctis takes a few steps around and cautiously calls, “Specs?” just in case.

No one answers. They’re alone. _Finally_. Noctis rounds on Prompto and tries to keep his head.

He’s a little sweaty from the arcade—the heat and the movement and the general stuffiness of the place. He wants his uniform off. And Prompto’s too. He blurts, “I could go for a shower... wanna come?”

Prompto looks at him, and Noctis immediately regrets the offer. He shouldn’t—it’s not like Prompto hasn’t already sucked him off. But Prompto shifts uncomfortably and scratches at his wristband, glancing away and murmuring, “Um...”

Noctis immediately says, “Never mind.” He doesn’t know if he overstepped in general or just hit a weird boundary, but he backs down either way, wandering off into the living room. He doesn’t show it, but he’s immensely relieved when Prompto follows. “We could play some more—”

“Noct—”

“I didn’t finish adventure mode on our file—”

Noctis reaches the couch, where the controller’s already sitting on the table from the five minutes he managed to squeeze in last night. Then he turns to sit down, and Prompto’s _right there_ , leaning in to kiss him. 

Noctis’ brain immediately switches to animal mode—he kisses Prompto back, running both hands up into Prompto’s yellow hair, and they tumble onto the couch together. It’s the photobooth all over again, except without any need to hold back. Noctis can kiss Prompto as hard as he wants—hard enough to bend Prompto back into the couch cushions. He flattens Prompto down, pressing between Prompto’s thighs, forcing his legs to spread. Prompto loops his arms around Noctis’ middle and leans into every moment. He opens wide for Noctis, legs and mouth. He lets Noctis grind into him. The heady mood of the arcade and dicking around together and the last few days of just wanting _this_ comes rushing right back. Noctis is hard in no time. 

It makes it _so much better_ that Prompto’s hard too. He was last time, after he sucked Noctis off, and Noctis knows that doesn’t really _mean anything_ —young men get hard so easily, and he’d like to think he’s not that bad to look at. But it’s still good to know that Prompto’s enjoying it on at least some level. The fact that he can get someone as cute as Prompto hard is a huge turn on. Prompto’s a huge turn on. Everything they’ve done together has been. Noctis fills him up with tongue and wants all their clothes _gone._

Through a slew of sloppy kisses, Noctis manages to wrestle his own jacket off and toss it aside. He tugs and Prompto’s, and Prompto pushes up off the couch enough to get the jacket off—it joins Noctis’ on the floor. Their collars are still unfastened, but it’s not enough. Noctis nips at the side of Prompto’s lips, nuzzles down his jaw, and trails a line of wet kisses along his throat. Prompto gasps, arching up, and Noctis fiddles with the hem of his shirt, slurring, “Can I?”

“Y-yeah...” Prompto answers, weakly tugging at Noctis’ buttons. Noctis already wants him desperately.

Noctis doesn’t have the time or wherewithal to deal with buttons—he just spreads his hands along Prompto’s waist and pushes up beneath his shirt. Prompto moans, squirming in Noctis grip, which just fuels Noctis on. He touches _everything_ —palms over Prompto’s taut stomach and up the faint line of his abs, reaching his chest and rolling his shirt up with it. Noctis pushes the white fabric right under Prompto’s arms, bunching it as much as it can go, and then he stops mouthing at Prompto’s adam’s apple so he can duck to Prompto’s chest. Without even thinking, Noctis locks his mouth around one nipple and sucks hard.

Prompto’s whine is absolutely filthy. It does things to Noctis’ head, like the taste and texture of Prompto’s pert nipple. He tongues it and lifts a hand to rub over the other one—he presses in and traces around it until there’s a nice, hard little bud for him to pinch and tug. Then Noctis lets go of the one in his mouth so he can lick over to that one and lap all over it, turning it a rosy red. Prompto writhes and whimpers. Noctis could eat him up. Noctis never really considered himself a breast man, but now that he’s got a hold of Prompto’s flat tits, he can’t let go. He doesn’t stop until they’re both glistening and raw and Prompto’s practically sobbing. Then he sits up to get a proper look. Prompto already looks absolutely _wrecked._ With his shirt bunched up, his chest pink and wet, his face flushed and his pants tented, he’s irresistible. Noctis would’ve paid anything for him. 

Noctis hurriedly undoes his own shirt, because he’s boiling up and needs the air, and then he descends on Prompto again and asks between a new storm of kisses, “Can I touch you?” They’re already touching all over, but hopefully Prompto knows what he means. At first, Prompto just lets out a breathy moan.

Then he seems to steady himself and manages, “Y... yeah... whatever you want, dude...”

Noctis wants to tie Prompto to his bed and never let him leave. It wouldn’t matter how much it’d cost. But maybe that’s a deal for another night, and in the meantime, Noctis contents himself with unfastening Prompto’s pants and reaching inside. Prompto gasps as soon as Noctis’ hand is on his cock, and his fingers dig tighter into Noctis’ back. Noctis pulls Prompto out, pumping once, then reaches into his own pants to do the same. He lines them up together, but Prompto tugs at his wrist and pulls it up, licking a few times across his palm first. Noctis shivers at the sight and kisses Prompto as soon as it’s done. Then he tries to take them both in one hand and stroke them in unison. It feels _so much better_ than being alone.

Prompto’s an amazing partner. He keeps up with Noctis’ kisses, he humps Noctis back, he seems to want just what Noctis wants and gives as good as he gets. He’s intoxicating. Noctis doesn’t have to think about anyone or anything else. They rut into each other with the same fervour, building up and burning hotter, until Noctis can’t take it anymore. He groans into Prompto’s mouth and comes in his own hand, feeling it splatter between them. He keeps pumping through the white haze that overtakes him. In the midst of his dizzying orgasm, he feels Prompto come too. Prompto makes the most erotic noises when he’s coming—the best Noctis has ever heard. 

Noctis keeps pumping until there’s nothing left. Then he collapses down, eliciting an ‘oomph’ out of Prompto. But Prompto doesn’t complain or push him off. They lie there together, spent and boneless. Eventually, Prompto mumbles, “Heavy,” and Noctis slips off to the side, still half on top of Prompto but giving more room to breathe. Prompto’s arms are still around him.

Sated, tiredness sets in. It’s one of the most active days Noctis has had in a while, and one of the best. Prompto makes a great pillow. He doesn’t break the magic, so Noctis doesn’t either. 

They just lie there, basking in the afterglow, until the annoying outside world buzzes Noctis’ phone.

* * *

Noctis keeps all three pictures in his wallet. The innocent one goes in front, hiding the other two from immediate view. There are a few points throughout the day where a quick look at them is what gets him through it. He has way too many things on his plate, and unlike his peers, none of them are things he asked for. He didn’t pick a career, didn’t choose his courses, but at least he has one small slice of _normal_ to look at. Sort of. As normal as it gets for him. Something he _chose_. He looks at their picture while Ignis makes dinner, even though he’s supposed to be working on his essay. When Ignis asks how that essay’s going, Noctis lies _fine_ and tucks the photo away. 

Somehow, he scrapes through the twelve-page minimum, and he survives the council report Ignis relays to him, swallowing down food in between paragraphs. By the time that Ignis leaves, Noctis only has six hours before he’ll show up again in the morning, ready with a ride to school. At least Noctis never takes long to fall asleep. 

He stuffs himself into sweatpants and an old tee for pajamas, mechanically brushes his teeth, leaves the current mess of papers where they are and is glad Ignis did the dishes. He crashes into bed with the usual white noise filling up his brain. It usually subsides fairly fast. This time, when it ebbs away, there’s one thing still left in its wake.

He wishes he’d seen Prompto at some point in the day. They don’t have any classes together. He thinks Prompto’s in photography, or something like that—probably a lot fewer classes, probably a lot less mind-numbing ones. He probably has _fun_. He’s probably a great photographer. Noctis has seen him snapping a few pictures here and there but not the actual pictures. 

It’s a bad time to think about that. To think about Prompto. Noctis rolls over and buries his face in the pillow, clenching his eyes closed to avoid the lit-up digits of his clock and the sliver of starlight around his curtains. He wonders what Prompto’s room is like—he’s never been to Prompto’s.

Prompto’s never been in his bedroom, which makes Noctis shiver, because for just a few gil, he could fuck Prompto _in this bed_. Not tonight, of course. It’s way too late. But sometime soon. He could have Prompto snuggled under these blankets, stripped out of his uniform, not just with disheveled clothes but _no clothes_ , all smooth, bare skin for Noctis to explore. And then Noctis could push him down again and kiss down his sharp chin, along his throat, over his flat chest, and lick his pink nipples until they hardened and trembled between Noctis’ teeth...

Noctis squirms and shifts again, angling his hips down into the bed—he’s getting hard, which is the last thing he needs, but it’s impossible to think about Prompto and _not_ get going. He doesn’t jerk off often—he so rarely has the time or energy or even stimulus. But it’s definitely tuckered him out a few nights. Only now, there’s something missing, because Noctis has had a taste of _more_ , and just thinking about Prompto isn’t quite enough. His eyes open, peering through the semi-darkness at the silhouette of his cell, perched on the edge of the nightstand. 

It’d be absurd to text Prompto only a few hours from morning. It’s not like Prompto could do anything about his problem anyway. Prompto’s definitely sleeping. But _maybe_ he’s not, and maybe just talking to him would take care of that itch, and Noctis would be able to clear his mind and sleep in peace.

He knows there’s no chance of that. But he also can’t seem to stop himself from taking his phone. He opens their last conversation and fixates on Prompto’s: _I’m all yours._

Noctis knows that isn’t permission to text at all hours. But his nether regions are half in control of his mind, and before he can stop himself, he’s sent: _Hi._

Which is stupid. He _knows_ it’s stupid. Tired and horny, he manages an equally stupid, _Sorry if that woke you up._

To his shock, the ellipses pop up almost instantly. Then Prompto sends back, _Nope: got Professor Palazzo this term. He outlawed sleep on nights before his class._

Noctis has no idea who that is. But he answers, _I’ve got a few of those. Big test every week?_

_Nah, he’s just crazy about colour levels. Like, literally crazy._

Noctis doesn’t know what that means but doesn’t have to ask, Prompto adds a minute later, _Sorry; photography woes. Whatchu need? Bit late for a visit, isn’t it? ;)_

And there it is. For a moment, they were just talking, just passing normal complaints. Sort of like... _friends_.

Except Noctis has to remember that they’re _not_ friends. And that shouldn’t come with an unsettling swell of disappointment in his stomach. He texted Prompto because he was horny anyway. Another one comes in: _Sorry, that sounds bad—if you wanna schedule another time, that’s fine._

And a heartbeat later, _I mean, not that I’d be mad if you wanted to now, I could try a cab._

The ellipses waver in and out. Noctis can tell Prompto’s slipping into fretting-mode but doesn’t know how to fix it, because he _does_ want Prompto _immediately_ but knows how crazy it is. And if word ever got back to his father that a hot blond snuck into his apartment in the middle of the night, it’d be hard to play the ‘school friend’ card.

Of course, he can’t just say _let’s just talk like school friends_ either, since Prompto already skipped over that to business. So Noctis dares the other option that’s been buzzing in the back of his head. He sends, _Can we sext?_

The ellipses on the other side stop. It takes a minute to get the answer: _Is that okay? For like... y’know, your position and stuff?_

Probably not. But there’s also probably a whole wing in the Citadel dedicate to problems just like that, that could erase all the data and spin it differently to the press. He suggests, _I could always deny it._ Then he thinks to add, _And I probably can’t send pictures._ That would send the whole Citadel into an uproar. He doesn’t think Prompto would leak them. But once those kind of things are out, they’re _out_ , and Noctis knows it’s smarter to just be safe.

Prompto answers simply: _I can._ Which spikes Noctis’ temperature by several degrees.

He wasn’t exactly hoping for anything when he startled this sleep-addled conversation, but that’s the best possible outcome. He doesn’t even ask how much. However much, it’ll be worth it, and he’ll add it to his bill for next time, because there _will_ be a next time. He’s glad his simple text can’t betray how ridiculously eager he is. _Send some._

After a second’s pause, he remembers to add, _Please._

_Give me a few? The lighting’s bad and I’m in old pajamas._

_Don’t care. Now please._ And part of it’s also that Noctis kind of likes the idea of ‘bad’ ones—not studio-quality photographs, but intimate, personal ones that just show Prompto how he is. 

_You sure? I’m a mess rn._

_Very sure._

The next one takes a few seconds: a _Yes, Your Highness ;)_ and an attached photo of Prompto sitting up in bed, a blanket and keyboard visible over his lap, two white pillows propped behind his back and one arm held out for the phone. The lighting is awful—it’s just the glow of his computer screen and the camera’s flash, so the picture’s kind of blurry and the shadows are weird. But Prompto’s _smiling_ , and that makes it all worth it. He’s in an oversized shirt that droops off his slender shoulders and entirely swallows up the hand over his lap. His body language is sort of sheepish, his expression hopeful. He looks cute as hell. It’s enough to make Noctis forget the use of his title.

Noctis is still staring at the picture when Prompto sends, _Ugh, red eye. Edea would kill me._ Noctis assumes that’s another photography professor. 

He replies in total honesty: _You look great._

There’s a pause before he gets: _Flattery gets you a discount. ;)_

Noctis starts typing up that he’ll pay it all, but before he’s finished, he gets: _Sorry, bad joke. I don’t charge for shit pictures._

_I’ll pay full price._

_No, I was totally kidding!_

_Come up with a price, add it to next visit, I’ll pay._

_I haven’t even sent you anything good yet..._

Prompto’s face is good. Prompto in pajamas is good. Prompto in bed is delicious, even if it’s completely innocent. Noctis’ arousal hasn’t left, instead simmering in the background—a low, constant lust that Prompto stirs in him, even when they’re just lightly chatting. It takes him a minute to work up the nerve to answer: _So send me the good stuff._

When the next picture comes, the room’s different—the lights are on, and the computer’s out of view. Prompto’s still propped against the headboard, but now the blankets are pushed back, and Noctis can see that he’s not wearing any pants. His bare legs are folded, and Noctis can see the white rim of his briefs beneath the hem of his nightshirt. It’s still a relatively innocent photo, but even though Prompto’s face looks tired, there’s something in his eyes that looks _ready_.

The caption reads: _Awaiting your orders, Your Highness._

Noctis spends a good minute just eyeing the photo, then makes himself correct: _Please don’t use my title._ He hates scolding Prompto already, which is what it feels like, but he doesn’t want that one thing spoiling his fantasies. He tries to soften it afterwards, adding, _Sorry. You’re perfect. Just use my name._

It still takes too long for an answer. Finally, a picture comes through, mostly Prompto’s face, cheeks flushed and eyes dilated, looking up through thick lashes and biting his plush bottom lip. It says: _I’m sorry, Noct. I’ll be good from now on. <3_

A shudder runs through Noctis’ whole body. He sends, _You’re better than good_ , and means it.

Prompto sends another picture, this time with two fingers in his mouth, weighing down his tongue with his lips spread wide. The next is a picture of that hand smoothed across his chest, his chin tilted out of the frame but his breast thrust into it, his shirt tugged down enough to show one rosy nipple. A third picture has Prompto pinching it, but the set stops there. 

Noctis hurriedly presses, _You’re so hot._

It earns him a picture of Prompto arched forward, his eyes closed and mouth open, fingers tugging at his nipple and thighs rubbing together. It comes with: _What do you want me to do to myself?_

It’s cliché, but Noctis wants to say _everything_. Except _he’d_ rather be the one doing it. Sleep deprivation sinks away under the arousal Prompto stokes in him. It won’t help the pictures, but he sends, _Think of me._

_I already am. <3_

When Prompto sends another picture, blond hair fanned across his pillow and eyes peering hazily up at the camera, Noctis can really believe it. Prompto looks so sincere. Noctis hates that they’re so far apart.

He asks, _Are you hard?_

_Well, I’m thinking about you, so... of course. ;)_

Noctis loves hearing that. But he’s also frustrated when it doesn’t come with a picture. _Show me?_

The next one he gets is Prompto on his stomach, lying down across the bed, but hips slightly angled to the side and his long, trim shaft poking out of his briefs, one hand around the base. Prompto adds: _Your hand felt better._

Noctis wishes he still had his hands on Prompto. He drops the one that isn’t holding his phone down to his lap, ducking under the blankets. He presses his palm into the growing tent there while Prompto sends another with his legs up in the air, held close together with his briefs rolled down his thighs, his stiff cock jutting up off his stomach. He asks, _You’ll touch me again, right?_

_I wish I could right now._

_What would you do to me?_

_Fuck your pretty brains out._

_But I need those brains for school. :,(_

Noctis actually laughs out loud. It’s ridiculous, but he loves that Prompto would say that in the middle of a steamy conversation. Prompto quickly sends, _Sorry, I want you to fuck me, I swear._ Noctis believes that too, because the next picture is taken over Prompto’s shoulder, showing down the curve of his back to the rise of his ass, which he has thrust out into the air. _My brains and body are both yours for the taking. <3_

Given that Noctis doesn’t want to be the prince in control of everything, that probably shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. But it really, really _does_. He gets a tentative, _Noct?_

He types out, _You’re such a dork, I love you_ , and catches it just time to fix ‘you’ to ‘it’ before hitting ‘send’. The slip only trips him up for a second before he gets a picture of Prompto winking, and then another of Prompto’s ripe ass from a different angle, and he gets too caught up in kneading his cock through his pajamas to care how much he loves it. When it gets to be too much, and he has to duck his hand inside to stroke himself properly, he sends, _Show me your hole._

He forgot to use a question mark. It doesn’t seem to matter. Prompto already said he was _Noctis’_ , and he answers: _Yes, Noct._

The first picture is a full body shot, showing his face over his hips as he turns his ass towards the camera, one hand grabbing one cheek and stretching it just enough to show off the furrowed, pink-brown entrance in the middle of his crack. Noctis groans out loud and squeezes himself. Another picture comes of a closer up shot, with one wet finger tugging at the brim of the puckered entrance, and another with that finger curled inside. The pictures stop for a message: _I wish I had your dick instead... it’s so much bigger..._ Another picture, this time with two fingers. _Noct, why haven’t you fucked me here yet?_

Noctis pumps himself, then has to stop, because he’s going to come too soon, and he wants more pictures. And it’s hard to have the wherewithal to type. But he tries. He asks, _Do you want me to?_

 _Yes, please. <3_ The next picture has those two fingers buried to the knuckle, and Prompto’s thighs have shifted, showing off his tight sac caught between them. _Really, really badly._

 _I will_ , Noctis promises. He types three times before finally getting the spelling even close to right: _Next time I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk right._

 _Noct_ , Prompto sends, and Noctis can just picture him moaning it, _If you talk to me like that, I’m gonna come..._

Noctis is going to come. He’s so close. He holds his cock in a death grip and types, _Do it. And say my name when you do._

The next few pictures are rapid-fire, and the composition isn’t careful—they’re blurry, and vague, but Noctis loves every one of them, because they show Prompto writhing as he fingers himself more before returning to his cock, humping his hand and arching his back and ruining his perfect hair. Noctis saves every single picture. Finally, they come to an end, and there’s an odd pause where Noctis is right at the edge and barely hanging on. Too tightly wound for the full word, he sends, _Prom?_

A few seconds pause. Then a picture pops up, taken overhead with Prompto lying back in the pillows, his rumpled nightshirt in view and dotted with white strings. His flushed face is pouting. The caption reads, _You made me come so hard I ruined my shirt._

Noctis _stares_. Prompto’s _so gorgeous_. But it’s the stupid shit he says that really gets to Noctis. Prompto adds: _But I’ll forgive you, because I like the way your name sounds when I’m screaming it. <3_.

And that’s just too much. Noctis gives himself a final pump and lets himself come, soaking his boxers and rolling down into the mattress as he pumps it out. Even with just his hand, the orgasm’s so good that it nearly knocks him out. Images of Prompto drift around his mind, prolonging all his pleasure. He shuts his eyes. He probably would pass out, if not for another beep from his phone. 

He tiredly brings it down to read, _Anything else?_

It’s probably meant to be coy, but Noctis is exhausted and satisfied. He answers, _Just you again, next time I’m free._ He doesn’t mention that he came, because that’s too embarrassing, but hopefully Prompto can figure it out. So Prompto isn’t stuck waiting on his whims, he clarifies: _You can sleep now. Thank you. Seriously._

_Anytime._

A moment passes, where Noctis vaguely thinks about saying something else, but then another picture comes through. The lights are off in it again, this time nothing but Prompto’s phone flash there to stop it being completely black and white, though the colours are still dulled nearer to grey. He’s snuggled up in bed, tucked beneath the covers. His smile is everything.

_Good night, Noct._

_Night, Prom._

After a second’s trepidation, Noctis sends a heart emoji. He tells himself it’s not weird, because Prompto does it all the time. Prompto sends just the heart back. Noctis scrolls back up to the picture of Prompto in bed and soaks it in before he puts his phone back on the nightstand. 

With the image of Prompto still thrumming through him, Noctis shuts his eyes. He’s immediately gone.


	4. -Held

Studying is only mildly more palatable with Ignis around. Noctis’ schoolwork is still every bit as boring, his test sheets dry and dull, and Ignis offers little relief to that atmosphere, if any. Ignis ignores his grumbling and groans. But Ignis can, at least, explain the inevitable problems that Noctis comes up against. Sometimes he wonders how his classmates ever get by without well-trained retainers doting on them, but then he remembers they don’t have to do it all amidst council meetings and the pressures of a nation. Maybe they have the time and energy to spend half an hour puzzling out a few dense sentences in a particularly difficult textbook, but Noctis doesn’t.

Noctis turns his book around, pushes it across the dining table, and taps the third paragraph down. Ignis, pouring over his own stack of papers, glances towards the movement. “Professor Estheim wants me to detail the importance of the Balouve Mines’ resources in the building of Costlemark Tower,” Noctis mutters, flipping the page back and pointing again. “But it _just said_ that Costlemark was built as a military base of operations for Solheim, which puts it way _before_ the Balouve Mines were built.”

Ignis lifts a brow and bends over the book, which Noctis obliging slides closer. Ignis scans the page, flipping forward to where Noctis first gestured, then straightens out with a frown.

While Noctis is waiting for the answer, his phone buzzes. It echoes loudly off the tabletop, drawing Ignis’ attention, but Noctis snatches the phone up before he can be told: _not now_. He tries valiantly not to show any reaction when he sees who texted him. In obvious answer to the question Noctis sent half an hour ago, it reads: _Chocobo, duh! Coeurls eat people!_

Noctis fights an incoming smile, because of _course_ Prompto would rather have a cute pet than a badass one. He means to type out that _his_ coeurl would only eat his enemies, but first he gets another text: _Sorry for the slower answer, was in the shower._

Noctis stiffens. As he did the last few times Noctis texted during one, Prompto adds: _Want pics? ;)_

The first time, Noctis asked for them. He was half-joking, not fully expecting them to come through. But a gorgeous photo of Prompto clad only in a towel immediately arrived. The second time, Prompto had _actual shower pictures_ waiting.

The third time, Noctis pounced on them. This time, Noctis has to rein it in, because he won’t be able to hide _that_ reaction from Ignis. It kills him to type out: _Later for sure. With Iggy rn._

_Shit. Should I behave?_

A second later, Prompto adds: _I’m totally capable of that._

And then: _Sorry, I’ll just leave you alone for now._

Which isn’t at all what Noctis wants. They’ve been texting more and more, sometimes dirty, sometimes not, sometimes just chatting over inane school things that suck in Noctis’ attention just as much as the illicit ones do. He wants to tell Prompto it’s fine and they should definitely keep chatting, except Ignis clears his throat.

Noctis glances up, fully expecting a look of disappointment. But Ignis’ gaze is surprisingly tolerant, and he even suggests, “Why don’t you have your friend over for dinner sometime?”

Noctis opens his mouth to say Prompto’s been over for dinner, even though that’s not really true—he’s been over for quick snacks and make-out sessions on the couch. Then he shuts his mouth, because he realizes that’s not what Ignis means. 

“You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with him,” Ignis prods. “It seems high time Gladio and I were properly introduced.”

Noctis feels his stomach churn. It’s not that Prompto isn’t nice—Prompto’s _great_. And maybe they really could sell themselves as _friends_ for the short length of one dinner—they do get along well, and they’ve had a few conversations now that almost fill that gaping hole in Noctis’ life. But there’s that last little bit missing, because Noctis knows it doesn’t mean to Prompto what it does to him. And Noctis isn’t sure there’s enough money in the world to justify the awkwardness of a dinner with his retainers.

Then there’s the danger of actually introducing those retainers to someone who is, essentially, his concubine. They’d probably never know. But _Noctis_ would know. Ignis, someone so important and integral to Noctis’ life, looks at Noctis with complete acceptance. If he knew that, aside from Noctis’ unspoken feelings, Noctis was just buying a warm hole to sink into, he’d wear a very different expression. 

Noctis finally murmurs, “I... don’t know if that’s such a good idea...”

“Oh?” Ignis’ frown deepens, and Noctis instantly feels another stab of guilt.

“It’s not like I’m hiding you guys or ashamed of you or anything, it’s just...” He grasps at straws before producing: “I don’t wanna scare him.” Which is fair. Because as warm as Ignis can be, in the right moments and total privacy, most of the time he may as well be a perpetual professor, and Gladiolus would intimidate anyone. At Ignis’ skeptical look, Noctis elaborates, “Look, he’s just a little jumpy, okay? And you guys are from the Citadel...”

“I’m hardly royalty,” Ignis scoffs. “You can assure your friend that I am every bit as much a commoner as him.” After a pause, Ignis adds, “Though I do see your point about Gladio. I will try to have him dress in a manner that tones down his muscular form.”

Noctis still hesitates. But Ignis’ sincerity chips away at him, and deep down, he thinks it would be sort of nice to have them all know each other. If Prompto really _was_ his friend, all four of them would have to get along. He’d want all the pieces of his life to fit together. He’d want Prompto to feel at home with them, because it would mean that Prompto was truly and totally at home with _him_.

It’s a lot of sentimental nonsense that he tries to force down. He tells himself he’s typing for convenience’s sake—he does need them to really buy the ‘friend’ thing. He texts Prompto, _Hey, awkward question... you wanna come over for dinner sometime?_

A minute passes. Ignis, evidently appeased, turns back to Noctis’ textbook. Then Prompto answers, _...Kinda worried why that’s awkward... is ‘dinner’ a euphemism?_

Noctis snorts. _No, dinner’s dinner. It’s awkward because two other people might be there._

The ellipses take a long time to form a simple: _Who?_

 _Not like my dad or anything. Just Ignis and my_ —Noctis stops mid-sentence, hesitating over the word ‘Shield.’ Bodyguard doesn’t sound much better. He finally rephrases: _Just Ignis and a friend._

_Okay, don’t freak out, but I just... this happened to me once, so I gotta ask... are you asking for group sex...?_

Noctis practically chokes. Ignis sighs, “It really is a simple question...” But Noctis ignores him. 

He finds the mere concept of sex with Ignis and Gladiolus, men who’ve grown to be like his own family, profoundly disturbing. Yet the discomfort doesn’t stop there—the text reminds him of what Prompto does with _other people_. Noctis has to forcibly refrain from asking if Prompto went through it or not—went over for ‘dinner’ and had sex with several clients. The thought _bothers him_. It shouldn’t. He tries to remind himself that Prompto’s not _his_ , that he has no right to judge, but it still sucks.

Bitter but fighting it, Noctis answers: _Fuck. No._

_So like... just dinner?_

_Food, Prom. Just food._

The ellipses blink again. _They’re not gonna, like... drill me, are they...?_

When Noctis takes more than a second to answer, Prompto sends: _I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult._

_I know you don’t like talking about being the prince, but you are and I’m just a nobody._

_I’m sorry, I’m being a baby. It’s free food. I’ll go._

_I mean, if you still want me._

Prompto has a way of casually crumpling Noctis’ heart. He replies with: _I want you. It’ll be fine. They’re cool, but if they act uncool, I’ll banish them from the kingdom. I promise you’ll be fine._

After it’s sent, he throws in: _And Ignis is a great cook._

It takes a minute for Prompto to answer, _You’ll protect me?_

Noctis promises, _I’ll protect you._

_You’re my hero, bro. :,)_

Noctis is definitely smiling. He knows it for sure when Ignis interjects, “I take it he accepted?”

“Just say when and where,” Noctis chimes, whilst typing out: _How much?_

* * *

“Just act normal,” Noctis repeats for the tenth time. He’s not sure either man really knows what _normal_ is, but he at least expects them to try. Ignis, still slaving away over the stove, sighs at Noctis’ fretting. It’s usually the other way around.

“Would you quit worrying?” Gladiolus mutters, already lounging back into Noctis’ couch, shoes kicked off and jacket thankfully buttoned all the way up. They look about ready to burst, but hopefully Prompto won’t notice that. When he’s fully dressed and sitting down, Gladiolus _almost_ looks normal. But it could also be that Noctis is just used to his gigantic presence. Noctis hopes Prompto, a stick about half Gladiolus’ size, doesn’t bolt as soon as he shows up.

Noctis has a retort on his tongue, but a knock cuts him short. He instantly straightens up, pausing to fix his own sweater and quickly finger-comb his hair into place. Then he stops fussing, because his retainers are going to tease him enough later as it is. He’s just uncomfortably aware that, as background as they’ve become to him, both Ignis and Gladiolus are objectively attractive—Gladiolus with his beefcake body and Ignis with his suave sophistication. They could both afford Prompto easily, if perhaps not as often as Noctis. Not that they’ll ever know that they could. Noctis tries to shut off those voices and marches for the door.

He opens it to find Prompto standing sheepishly beyond the threshold, dressed in a sleeveless black top, punk-ish vest, and jeans so tight they may as well be painted on—they’ve already got Noctis staring. He has to force his eyes back up to Prompto’s face, where Prompto dons a stiff smile and greets, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

As they shuffle inside hallway, Ignis calls, “Just in time; supper’s ready.” Prompto sniffs the air, and the tension slips from his smile. It does smell delicious. Ignis even used a minimum amount of vegetables to appease ‘Prompto’s’ tastes.

As Prompto kicks out of his shoes, Noctis mutters quietly, “Maybe we should’ve thought of a safeword, in case you get weirded out and wanna bolt.”

Prompto laughs. “If it tastes as good as it smells, you’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”

Noctis grins back and is silently relieved that Ignis is so amazing. It’ll definitely taste good. 

It’s already being served as they enter the dining area: a steaming lasagna that Ignis gingerly sets in the center of the table. The plates are already stacked, glasses and sparkling water set, and he’s carving out a massive slice for Gladiolus as Noctis beckons Prompto closer. He’s grateful that Ignis and Prompto have at least already met, so it’s not as scary as it could be. Gladiolus smiles lightly when he sees Prompto, but there’s a guarded intensity behind his eyes. Noctis introduces for them, “This is Prompto, my schoolmate. Prom, this is Gladiolus, my friend.”

“His shield,” Gladiolus fills in, despite Noctis saying ten minutes earlier _not_ to say that. To Noctis’ horror, Gladiolus continues, “Which means if you ever do His Highness wrong, you’ll have me to deal with.”

Prompto instantly pales, and Ignis sighs, “Gladio, please...”

Noctis grits out, “He’s joking,” and tries to glare Gladiolus into oblivion. Gladiolus shrugs like it’s no big deal. They probably should’ve picked a safeword after all. 

Unfortunately, the square table means there’s no seat that’s safe—Noctis ushers Prompto into the one across from Gladiolus, at least making sure he isn’t sitting beside the object of his terror. Noctis takes Prompto’s left, leaving Ignis on his right. As Ignis sets a plate before Noctis, he asks, “How much would you like, Prompto? I do hope you like lasagna.”

“I do—and it looks great,” Prompto chirps, turning his attention from Noctis’ shield to the large dish in front of him. “You don’t have to serve me, though—”

“I don’t mind,” Ignis insists, already cutting Prompto a sizeable piece. “If I serve it, I can make sure these two don’t eat themselves into a coma.”

Noctis groans, “Iggy,” and Gladiolus laughs. Prompto loosens a little at the joke—Noctis can only hope that with a few more, he’ll see how informal their dynamic really is. Ignis passes Prompto the plate, complete with knife and fork, and that seems to be what Gladiolus was waiting for—he sets in, prompting Noctis to do the same.

For a brief moment, silence blankets the table, other than the distinctive click-clacks of cutlery. Then Prompto breaks it, telling Ignis, “Wow, this is amazing!”

“Thank you,” Ignis answers, commenting mildly, “It’s good to know that someone appreciates my effort.”

“I appreciate it,” Noctis says, but he knows he doesn’t say it _enough_ and can’t help the subtle blush of embarrassment that comes with. 

Gladiolus indignantly counters, “You know I love your cooking.”

Ignis hums in an air of mock skepticism. 

Looking a tad disgruntled, Gladiolus turns for Prompto instead and switches the subject to: “So, how’d you two meet?”

In the corner of his eye, Noctis can see Prompto’s eyes going wide. He quickly drops his hand beneath the table, reaching over to touch Prompto’s knee—he can just barely lay his fingers on it without stretching, and he doesn’t want to be obvious. He’d hold Prompto’s hand if he could. He answers for both of them, “Y’know, just bumped into each other around campus.” Which is _sort of_ the truth. Gladiolus waits, then gestures with his fork as though waiting for more details, but Noctis doesn’t offer them. 

Ignis kindly takes over, telling Prompto, “I’ve been fortunate enough to know Noctis for some time. So if you wish to hear any stories of how cute yet difficult he was as a child, I’m the one to ask.”

Noctis splutters, choking on a fleck of pasta. Ignis smoothly pours him some sparkling water and nudges his glass over. Gladiolus laughs, “You make it sound like they’re dating. You’re supposed to save the embarrassing baby photos for the girlfriend, Specs.” 

That just makes things worse. Noctis buries himself in his glass, and Prompto stares straight down at his plate.

Unperturbed, Gladiolus goes on, “We were introduced at the Citadel, obviously. ’Put the little guy through training.” Noctis protests at the ‘little guy’ label, but Gladiolus talks over him. “You look like you’ve got some decent muscles going on in those arms, there. Feel free to join in on that training sometime, so long as you manage to drag this one there on time.”

Eyes wide again, Prompto answers, “Um... thanks. I... do a lot of running.”

Noctis glances at Prompto. He didn’t know that. Somehow, he’d figured Prompto was as lazy as him when it came to exercise. But then, Noctis is _forced_ to do it, so maybe Prompto just pumps out the same level—a required status quo—and winds up as burnt out as him. 

Gladiolus gestures at the half-empty dish in the center of the table, joking, “We’re all going to have to do some running after tonight, or Ignis is going to have us putting on some extra pounds.”

Prompto laughs awkwardly. Noctis can tell it’s awkward. But he hopes that’s just because they’ve been hanging out and the others can’t. Even though it feels like Gladiolus is trying to be friendly, Noctis gets the distinct impression that he should turn the conversation away from weight and workouts. Ignis does it for him, asking, “So what do your parents do, Prompto?”

It doesn’t help; Prompto stiffens even more. “Uh, they’re researchers... they work out of town, mostly...” He doesn’t provide anymore, and none of them ask. The silence is back.

Then Gladiolus says, “You know, it’s good to see Noctis getting along with kids his age.”

Rolling his eyes, Noctis skips over being tired of hearing it and being very much an adult, cutting right to, “Ignis and I are practically the same age.”

Gladiolus counters, “Not mentally.”

Noctis glares, and Prompto buries a single chuckle in another bite of lasagna. Ignis gives Gladiolus and Noctis a shared look of exhaustion and changes the tone again. “So, Prompto, what field are you looking to join once you’ve finished your classes?”

“Oh, uh... photography.” Noctis gets a sudden pang of guilt—he wants to cut in and say how good Prompto is, but he still doesn’t really know, beyond all the dirty pictures he’s gotten. And the last thing he needs is Ignis asking what Noctis thinks of Prompto’s portfolio.

Unaware of that, Ignis nods approvingly. Gladiolus asks, “What do you do now, to get through university?” 

Prompto goes completely red. Noctis wants to jump in again but can’t think of a lie fast enough. Prompto mumbles, “Uh... my parents... left me some money... but, uh... I’ll have to get a part-time job at... some point...”

“We should play some King’s Knight afterwards,” Noctis blurts out. In his peripheral, Prompto looks instantly relieved. Noctis is too—he doesn’t want to hear about what other things Prompto does for money or the possibility that Prompto will get another job and have no time for him. Ignis frowns, but that’s probably because he thinks Noctis is being rude, not because he knows Noctis wants Prompto to exist _just for him_.

Oblivious, Gladiolus asks, “You play, Prompto?”

“Yeah, a bit...”

“Enough,” Noctis insists. “We should have a group match and all kick Gladio’s ass.”

Gladiolus dons a bring-it-on smirk and parries, “Why don’t we do teams, since you’re so fond of your new BFF? Wouldn’t wanna pit you lovebirds against each other.” Before Noctis and Prompto can react to that too-real bit of teasing, Gladiolus adds, “I’ll be on Iggy’s team.”

That gives Noctis new fodder to switch to, “No fair! He’s _my_ advisor.”

“If you really want fair,” Ignis drawls, “Perhaps it should be the three of you on one team against me.”

Gladiolus groans, and Noctis laughs. Prompto just eats his lasagna, looking relieved and maybe, every-so-slightly, _almost_ comfortable.

* * *

By the time the lasagna’s gone and Ignis has served ice cream with fruit, Prompto seems at ease. Gladiolus is docile, too stuffed to be any real threat, and even Ignis’ edges have dulled down. They do play some King’s Knight around the couch, trading various victories, and it’s both relaxing and enjoyable. But Noctis is secretly relieved when Ignis announces, “As nice as this has been, it’s getting quite late. Shall I drive everyone home?”

Gladiolus grunts, “Yeah,” before letting out an uncharacteristic yawn.

Prompto starts to nod, but Noctis puts a hand on his arm, speaking for both of them: “Prompto’s gonna stay and help me study.”

Ignis lifts a brow. “I doubt you have any shared classes.”

“Oh, let them waste a night or two gaming every once in a while,” Gladiolus jumps in, surprising Noctis with the rescue. “They’re young. The Six know we were worse in college.” Noctis very much doubts Ignis ever had a wild spurt, and not just because he knew Ignis through all those years and would’ve noticed.

“Noctis has school tomorrow,” Ignis reminds them.

“Which means he can sleep in more than he will this weekend—we’ve got training at five, first thing on Saturday.”

Noctis groans, and Prompto gives Ignis a hopeful smile. With a sigh, Ignis concedes, “Very well. But do try to get _some_ sleep.”

“Sure,” Noctis loosely promises. He’s surprised when it seems to work. 

Turning off his phone, Ignis gets to his feet. Gladiolus peels himself off the couch to follow, and Noctis, guiltily eager to see them gone, follows. It all went better than he thought, but he still wants _dessert_. Prompto quietly comes up beside him, fanning his appetite. The two of them politely wait out the other two getting into their shoes. Ignis leaves with a simple, “Good night,” and Gladiolus remains long enough to tell Prompto, “Nice meeting you, kid.”

Prompto answers, “You, too.” There’s something slightly restrained about his voice, the short comment held back, but Gladiolus doesn’t seem to notice. He smiles and disappears out the door, leaving Noctis to firmly shut and lock it.

Then he rounds on Prompto, ready to ask how Prompto’s doing.

But his body’s ready for _other things_ , and it acts first—he finds himself lunging forward and grabbing Prompto’s hair—he jerks Prompto in for a hungry kiss, surging in to back Prompto up against the wall. Prompto squeaks as he thuds into it, but any further noises are swallowed up in Noctis’ mouth. Even though Ignis makes damn good lasagna, Noctis deliberately held himself back from over-eating. He didn’t want to feel pleasantly stuffed, lethargic and content. He wanted to be just as ravenous as he feels. Prompto’s the only thing left on the menu. 

Prompto pants when Noctis finally lets him up for air. He looks a little surprised, but with his lips wet from Noctis’ tongue, it’s hard to hold back long enough to let him acclimate to Noctis’ greed. Noctis bites into his bottom lip and tugs it, licking into his mouth, and Prompto groans and tilts into it. His fingers lightly curl into Noctis’ hips, while Noctis pets through his hair and starts stroking down his side. His shirt’s so thin and tight that Noctis can feel _everything_.

The next time he gets the breath for it, Prompto murmurs, “Did I do okay, then...?”

“Amazing,” Noctis insists, pecking his cheek to show it. “I’m sorry I put you through that...”

“Nah, they’re cool...”

 _Prompto’s_ cool. Noctis fills him up with another feral kiss, then steps around him, grabbing him by the wristband and pulling him along. Noctis practically drags him around the hall and into the bedroom, leaving Prompto to stumble to catch up, and then Noctis is on him again, turning to kiss him and tug him by the belt loops. Prompto tries to look around, but Noctis doesn’t bother with the ceiling light. There’s a bit from the hall, some of the stars and city lights peaking through the curtains. Then they’re at the bed, and Noctis pauses to flick on the bedside lamp before shoving Prompto down. He wants to see it all.

Prompto stretches obediently out across the mattress, looking both a tiny bit anxious and perfectly at home in the mess of blankets. He holds himself up on his elbows, only glancing around for a moment before fixating back on Noctis. Noctis produces the spoils bought from a quick convenience store stop on the way home. He needed to get cash anyway—ultimately, he figured that would be harder for Ignis to track than a cheque. He also needed the bottle of lube and pack of condoms. Once they’re out in plain sight, Noctis looks at Prompto and hesitates. The rush of hormones can only propel him so far through unknown territory. He opens his mouth and tries to sound as nonchalant about it as he can. 

“So, can I... take you?” It comes out stupid-sounding. It sounded better in his head. He immediately feels awkward, out of his depth. Prompto looks at the condoms, then up to his face.

Quirking a smile, Prompto answers, “Fuck, _yes_.” And he actually spreads his legs, like some evil siren that’s going to make all of Noctis’ clothes melt off. He wants Prompto so badly it hurts.

He climbs down onto the bed, going in for another kiss, and Prompto rises up to meet him, still smiling—Noctis can feel the edges of it in their kiss. He runs one hand around the back of Prompto’s neck, tickling the shorter hairs there, threading up through the longer ones. Prompto’s hands spread around his waist, clutching at his sweater. Noctis kisses Prompto down into the pillow, digging in deep, but after he’s finished licking Prompto out the first time, Prompto nudges him back by the nose and tugs at his hem. Noctis takes the hint, sitting back to strip both the sweater and his undershirt away. He loves the way that Prompto’s eyes rake down his chest afterwards. Suddenly, every brutal training session with Gladiolus has been worth it. Prompto runs his hands up the juts of Noctis’ hip bones to palm the faint abs along his stomach. Noctis says, “You too.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, a little out of breath already, which is just how Noctis feels. He sits up enough to wrestle his vest off, and Noctis helps rip away his shirt, then they go back down again so Noctis can rain messy, open-mouthed kisses along Prompto’s throat and chest. Prompto moans and arches up as Noctis kisses across his breast. Noctis can’t help it. Prompto’s nipples are so _cute_ , and they get Noctis so hard. He licks at one while his fingers fiddle with Prompto’s belt. He thought that they’d go slower—that he’d want to savour his first time. But it’s hard not to think with his dick, and his dick wants Prompto _now_. It wanted him all evening. Diner was fun, but now Noctis can’t imagine how he got through it—how did he resist shifting his chair closer and thrusting a hand between Prompto’s legs? He could’ve massaged Prompto’s cock right through dessert, ordering Prompto to keep a straight face and not give anything away. Or he could’ve put out a tablecloth and had Prompto dip beneath it—not invite him for dinner but still have him there, knelt between Noctis’ legs, hidden out of sight, mouthing away at Noctis while the rest went on unawares. 

Noctis moans around Prompto’s breast at the thought, and it makes it harder to concentrate on Prompto’s belt. Prompto has to slide his hands between them and help. He deftly unfastens it around Noctis’ fingers, pulling it free, murmuring, “ _Noct_...”

Noctis comes back up to Prompto’s mouth, sharing a long, hot kiss before he pulls back to get rid of the belt. He still hesitates a second on the zipper, because this is it—he’s seen Prompto’s cock before, _touched_ it, but this is going to be different. He’s not ready to ride it yet. He knows _real sex_ isn’t like the porn he watches, lately all cute blonds. He knows it’ll probably hurt the first time, it’ll probably be weird—at least, that’s what the internet says—but Prompto’s a _professional_ and probably knows just what he’s doing, and Noctis really, _really_ wants to _fuck him_. Prompto asks curiously, “Noct...?”

Noctis shoves the zipper down and gathers both the jeans and Prompto’s briefs in his fingers, tugging them unceremoniously down Prompto’s thighs. Prompto squawks in surprise, but then he’s lifting his hips off the bed to help, and Noctis is pulling it all down at once. Prompto’s trim cock bounces out, semi-hard and flushed pink, momentarily distracting Noctis. He eyes it while he finishes getting Prompto’s pants off, and he even plucks off each sock afterwards, lowering Prompto’s bared feet back to the bed. It leaves Prompto utterly naked, not wearing a single thing except for his wristband. Prompto dons a light blush, and he tugs at Noctis’ pants but waits for Noctis to return the favour.

Noctis wriggles out of his last clothes quicker, aware he’s horribly ungraceful but too horny to care. Prompto still looks at him appreciatively anyway, running tentative hands along his chest and inner thighs, smoothing down his stomach to pool at his groin. When Noctis climbs in between Prompto’s legs, Prompto hikes them up to reach over Noctis’, and he looks up at Noctis with clouded blue eyes, sporting flecks of lavender, smiling in encouragement. Noctis can’t believe he’s really going to get to fuck the gorgeous doll in front of him. 

He gives Prompto another kiss, unable to resist. Then he’s grabbing the lube. He uncaps the bottle a little clumsily, catching the lid before it falls onto Prompto’s, then pausing, because he doesn’t know how much to use. He doesn’t want to say that he’s never done this before, but he thinks that Prompto’s probably figured that out by now. Prompto reaches wordlessly up to join in, tilting the bottle to pour a generous amount out between them. Prompto then slicks it around Noctis’ fingers, wetting them both in the process, and even that is hot. The gel sort of tingles, strangely cool against his feverish skin. Prompto’s the one to put the bottle away after, then to guide Noctis down between his legs. 

He draws his thighs up higher, giving Noctis an even better view. He gently cups his own balls, holding them back as he runs his other hand down beneath them. Noctis eyes the whole thing up and wishes he had Prompto’s camera. He tells himself he’ll see this again—he’ll buy it again and again, every night he’s free. But it’s hard to imagine that anything could be as perfect as the moment that he’s in. Prompto spreads his cheeks wider with one hand and rubs his middle finger down over his hole. He mumbles through a shiver, “Do you want to be in me first...?”

Noctis reaches down without thinking and slots his hands under Prompto’s ass, squeezing and eliciting a ragged moan. His thumbs trace the subtle curve of Prompto’s inner thighs, pulling at either side of Prompto’s entrance and watching the furrowed edges stretch. His fingers leave wet streaks along Prompto’s peach skin, making it glisten in the low light. Then he presses one thumb over Prompto’s hole before deciding it’s too thick and starting with his pinky. He sucks in a deep breath and pushes in.

Prompto’s softer on the inside than he’d expected, warmer, _tighter_ , the walls meaty and substantial. Noctis has to really stroke them to get any kind of leeway. Prompto twitches and lets out a strangled noise that goes right to Noctis’ cock. He wriggles inside Prompto, slowly pushing experimentally deeper. He knows he’s probably not doing it right—he can’t get much leverage with his pinky—but at first, he just wants to _play_ with Prompto’s asshole—to explore it and map it out. Prompto doesn’t protest. He just flexes and waits as Noctis fingers him at odd angles, finally sinking knuckle-deep before pulling out. Then Prompto’s hand slides down to join him, spreading the entrance wider and breathing, “Try to get two inside...”

Noctis does. He pokes his index and middle finger into Prompto, listening carefully to Prompto’s sharp gasp. He pauses, having only the tips submerged, but Prompto licks his lips and nods. So Noctis keeps going. He worms his way deeper, trying to be slow and careful but loving the way that Prompto’s walls suck at him. He knows it’s just a prelude, and he can’t wait to feel it around his cock. He notices Prompto’s other hand now cradling his cock, not quite squeezing or pumping yet, but ready to. Noctis wants to bend down and kiss it, but he can’t take his eyes off Prompto’s hole long enough to really move. He feeds Prompto more and more until he can spread his fingers apart, and after a bit, Prompto slides one in too. The three dual for space inside of him. Noctis could play with Prompto’s hole forever, if his cock wasn’t hard as a rock.

Finally, Prompto mutters, “Okay,” and withdraws. Noctis reluctantly does too and eagerly lines up, except that Prompto reaches over for the condom and the crinkling packet reminds Noctis they can’t start just yet. Prompto rips the package open with his teeth and pulls out the rubbery circle inside, asking, “Can I...?”

“Yeah.” It’s probably better if Prompto does it—Noctis would fumble too much. He’s _too_ ready. He can barely hold himself back as Prompto gingerly rolls the condom on. He loves having Prompto’s hands on his dick, even with the thin layer between their skin. Prompto even holds Noctis’ cock down towards his hole, then lets go and falls back to the pillows, reaching out to hold its sides. 

He looks up at Noctis, eyes dilated, and orders: “Fuck me.”

Noctis doesn’t have to be told twice. He nudges at Prompto’s hole, guides himself forward, and presses until the tip pops inside. Prompto hisses, and Noctis does too—it feels _amazing_ already. He wants to slam in all at once. He wants to be enveloped in Prompto’s pliant body. But he forces himself to go slow and steady, lightly rolling forward and back. He pistons in a bit at a time, until he’s finally buried deep and reeling. Prompto’s channel shivers around him. It’s burning hot. For a moment, Noctis’ vision seems to blur. Then he focuses in on Prompto’s face, screwed up—Prompto’s biting his bottom lip with his brow furrowed. 

Noctis bends down to kiss him. Prompto surrenders to that, arms wrapping tightly around him. Noctis sinks into it and starts to move. 

At first, his rhythm’s jerky—he stabs inside and shudders out, leaving Prompto to groan and dig into his shoulder blades, and Noctis mutters _sorry_ and tries to be smoother, but Prompto’s _so good_ and he can’t help it. His body moves on its own, rubbing Prompto all over. He squirms atop Prompto’s lean form, crushing it down and grinding in, until Prompto pushes him up and gasps, “Noct—”

“Right, right, sorry—” He hikes himself on one elbow, trying not to crush Prompto down, but it’s hard. It’s hard not to just come immediately. He has to will himself back. He’s never felt anything so _sexy_. His own hand pales in comparison. Prompto’s mouth was great, but even that can’t beat _this_ —being buried balls-deep in Prompto’s ass and being face to face with him. It’s a wet dream come true.

Noctis tries to give Prompto an apology kiss for his inexperience, but Prompto turns it into something more, and then Noctis is lost in that as much as the rest. He makes out with Prompto whilst sliding into him, thrusting in and out and palming his chest, his hips, his arms and neck and hair—Noctis sucks on Prompto’s tongue and pinches one nipple and grinds his cock as deep inside Prompto’s body as he can. He feels consumed with the moment, with _Prompto Argentum_ , and he can’t get _enough_ — 

He doesn’t want to come yet. He wants to fuck Prompto forever. But his thrusts start coming faster, harder, pounding Prompto down into the mattress with reckless abandon. The slick, wet sounds of skin-on-skin echo off the walls, punctured by the bed’s creaking and the headboard hitting the wall. He feels Prompto pulsing against his stomach and just barely has the wherewithal to reach down and grab Prompto’s cock. But that pulls a languid moan out of Prompto that pushes Noctis over the edge. His balls tighten, and he spills into the condom, not stopping for a moment as he pumps it mindlessly into Prompto’s body. He cries out and shudders at his finish. His whole world seems to white out. For a brief second, he’s boneless and weightless, giddily drowning in pure _pleasure_.

The orgasm is fantastic. It’s so much better with Prompto beneath him.

His heart hammers in his chest, skin broiling, and his all-consuming lust slowly edges back as he comes down. He collapses atop Prompto, heavy and sticky. But Prompto’s still hard in his hand, and he weakly pumps Prompto’s cock until Prompto moans and comes too, spilling brokenly between them. 

Noctis stays inside as long as Prompto lets him, even when it starts to feel weird and wet and his dicks’ flagging. But Prompto eventually gives him a little push, and Noctis begrudgingly pulls out, sliding to the side and curling up against Prompto. The two of them still lie there, naked and panting, even after Noctis has peeled the condom off and tossed it somewhere off the bed. The air reeks of _sex_. Prompto rolls over to face him.

For a moment, the two of them just look at one another. Prompto reaches tiredly out to touch Noctis’ side, but doesn’t go anywhere with it. Prompto’s face is even more beautiful in the wake of sex. Noctis cups his cheek and gives him a lazy kiss. After a bit more, Noctis mumbles, “That was awesome.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, grinning handsomely. Noctis doesn’t imagine he could’ve been that great, but Prompto’s smile is sincere, and Noctis thinks Prompto will let him do it again. Prompto even kisses the tip of his nose and nuzzles into the crook of his neck, burrowing against his shoulder and sighing. 

It’s some time before Noctis is cold enough to reach for the blankets. But when he moves, it shifts Prompto. Prompto yawns, then murmurs sleepily, “I should call a cab...”

Just like that, all the wind rips out of Noctis’ sails. The pleasant afterglow twists into annoyance. It was such a good moment. He could ask how much to stay the night. But Prompto’s already rolling over and searching his discarded clothes for his phone. 

Noctis bitterly mutters, “I’ll get your money,” and rolls over the other way.


	5. Cyclone

One by one, the other boys fall by the wayside. Snow texts while Prompto’s impaled on a plastic cock, snapping photographs for Noctis’ eyes only. Prompto sees the notification pop up, but he doesn’t click on it—he doesn’t have the wherewithal to explain, like he’s done to all the others, that he’s not available anymore. They were all casual anyway, quick and easy to shed, and he doesn’t think Snow will be any different. Snow’s hot as hell with rock hard abs and a beast of a cock, but he’s not _Noctis_ , so it doesn’t matter. Prompto makes a mental note to call Snow back later to gently let him down.

Noctis responds to the latest photoset with: _You’re so hot, Prom._ And it’s simple, but it makes Prompto twitch and moan. He still can’t believe that Noctis Lucis Caelum is into _him_. Noctis is so _nice_. And Noctis is the most handsome bachelor in Insomnia, so from him, the complement really _means_ something.

Prompto poses for another picture, holding his knees against his chest so Noctis can see the purple dildo thrust inside him. His cock, crushed between his thighs, is already close to bursting. Prompto looks at the camera when he clicks it, but then he shuts his eyes and pretends it’s _Noctis’_ dick inside him, because that’s so much _better_.

Their first time was a little awkward, a little difficult, but every bit as awesome as Noctis said it was. He thinks it might’ve really been _Noctis’_ first time too, which completely blows his mind. It’s sappy and stupid, but he half wishes he’d waited for his childhood crush, so they could’ve shared that moment together. But then, if he wasn’t loose, none of this would’ve started in the first place. Noctis answers again: _Fuck. You look so good. Want you so much._

 _Want you too_ , Prompto sends.

_That toy’s so lucky._

Prompto clenches around it, shuddering and groaning before typing: _It’s not as big as you._

_Want me to buy you a bigger one?_

Normally, Prompto says no to Noctis’ excess spending—he doesn’t need to be lavished with gifts; he doesn’t really _want_ a sugar daddy. He just wants Noctis. But a toy from Noctis might be the closest thing he can own. He thinks he’d enjoy it more if he knew the toy inside him was Noctis’ choice. He wants one molded like Noctis’ dick. 

But that’s ridiculous and not something easy for him to secretly obtain. Prompto settles for waiting. _I want the real thing. Fuck me lots when you see me again._

_I do._

_I love it. <3_

A three-letter answer must mean Noctis is getting close. Prompto twists in bed, thrusting out his chest and turning his face to the side, even poking out his tongue. He snaps a few different pictures until he gets one he’s satisfied with. He never thought he’d actually have the confidence to be a pseudo porn model. He still doesn’t really. Noctis just keeps turning him on enough that his insecurities fade into the background, and all he cares about is making Noctis happy. Every time Noctis complements him, it gets easier to do this. Sometimes he thinks of throwing in that Noctis is the only one who gets these pictures—Prompto’s experimentally taken a few before but never had the guts to send them. Sexting with others has always just been words and never quite as thrilling. And now it’s not even worth it with them, because others’ don’t get him in the mood, and when he’s in the mood, he just waits until Noctis has the time to indulge him. He knows it shouldn’t work that way. He’s just supposed to be answering Noctis’ whims—working at Noctis’ schedule. But Noctis always seems to want to, as soon as he’s free, anyway. He’s too busy sometimes. He was busy for the last three days, and Prompto _missed him_.

Prompto rolls over to get a better ass shot and sends the collection with the caption: _Noct, please..._

Noctis takes a second. _What do you want, gorgeous?_

He doesn’t usually ask, but this time Prompto tries: _Permission to come._

A few more seconds pass. Prompto hopes Noctis is busy jerking off. He can picture Noctis sprawled out in bed, utterly naked beneath the covers, palming himself frantically as each new picture comes in. Noctis tells him: _Show me how full your balls are._

That shouldn’t be sexy. But in the moment, it totally works. Prompto reaches down to hold his cock out of the way, taking a picture of all of it: the whole area, completely exposed. He waits for an answer and nearly jumps out of his skin when the phone rings.

Texts must be easier to deny than voicemail. But then, Noctis must have the most secure network in the kingdom. Prompto doesn’t hesitate to answer. He holds the phone up to his ear, and Noctis’ delicious voice purrs, _“Come for me, Prompto.”_

Prompto moans, squeezing his cock and pumping once—that’s all it takes. He spills into his hand, ruining his sheets, clenching down around the dildo and picturing _Noctis_. Even in so few words, he could hear how hoarse Noctis was. He can hear Noctis’ heavy breathing as he finishes, and he latches onto that, drinking in every little sound that he can. Then he hears Noctis cry out, and he thinks Noctis might be coming too. 

They both stay on the line for a ridiculous amount of time afterwards. Neither of them really say anything—they’re both just panting, lounging in the afterglow. It isn’t until Prompto’s cum starts to cool on his stomach that he’s ready to leave. He knows he needs to shower and change the sheets—he can’t go to sleep in another wet spot. He mumbles first, “G’night, Noct.”

Noctis exhales and mutters, _“’Night... thanks.”_

“Pfft, thank _you_.” He came just as hard. Noctis laughs. It’s music to Prompto’s ears.

But then there’s a yawn on the other side, and Prompto knows Noctis is tired—he has a full day of classes tomorrow, and he’s been working hard all day—Prompto’s heard about it in little, off handed texts here and there. It’s late enough that they should both be asleep. Prompto repeats again, softer, “Good night.”

Noctis hums. The phone clicks—he’s hung up. Prompto does too. He lets his phone fall to his pillow and still takes a minute to breathe.

Then he eases the dildo out of himself. It leaves him feeling uncomfortably stretched, as always, but it was worth it for the orgasm and the sound of Noctis’ voice. He’s already naked, so with that out, there’s nothing left stopping his shower.

He climbs gingerly off the bed, only to realize that his wristband’s still on. It almost always is. 

Yet there’s always those one or two times where it isn’t, where Prompto forgets or where he has to take it off, or even where it slips—accidents happen. And when this one does, it’ll take everything down with him. All it’ll take is one poorly angled picture, and Noctis will _know_.

It would help if he didn’t send so many pictures. He needs to hold back a little more—needs more distance. But that’s easier said than done.

His phone buzzes. It could be Noctis following up, or it could be Snow trying again, or maybe even Leon or Locke double-checking the rejection. 

Prompto doesn’t look, just ambles off to shower.

* * *

They stumble into the last stall, Noctis fumbling the door closed behind them, stopping just long enough to seal the latch. Then he’s back on Prompto, kissing Prompto up against the wall. It’s an effort for Prompto not to fall into the toilet. Noctis doesn’t seem to notice. He digs both hands into Prompto’s ass and fills Prompto up with so much tongue that it gets hard to breathe. They’re not supposed to do this. They both know it. But it’s happening anyway, and Prompto loves it too much to push Noctis away.

Releasing Prompto’s mouth to kiss along his jaw, Noctis mutters quietly, “I wanna go to your place tonight...”

Prompto would probably tense if Noctis wasn’t undoing him so completely—he’s putty in Noctis’ eager hands. While Noctis mouths at his throat, Prompto gasps, “It’s, uh... kinda messy...”

“Mine would be a dump if I didn’t have Ignis,” Noctis chuckles.

“I mean, it’s my parent’s place, really, but they’re never home, so...”

“Sorry...”

“No, it’s—” He cuts off as Noctis squeezes his ass and starts bruising a hickey into his neck. “F-fine...”

He can feel Noctis’ hard cock grinding into him, but when he reaches down for it, Noctis pulls back, hazy-eyed and hungry. He looks at Prompto like he’s about to gobble Prompto up. Prompto licks his lips and tries to regain some semblance of coherency. “Sorry. Right, we should, uh... but my place is pretty lame...”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t do this here...” Noctis rakes a hand back through his hair, glancing aside. Prompto wants to run his hands through Noctis’ hair too but somehow manages to resist. “I don’t care how expensive your place is, though; I just know if I go home tonight, Ignis is gonna appear with council reports, and I get kind of sick of the same four walls...”

Prompto sort of gets it. It’s still nerve-wracking to think of bringing the crown prince back to his poor hovel of a home. But he knows that Noctis really is _sick_ of things, and more than anything, he wants to be good for Noctis. Noctis is _so good_ to him. So if Noctis wants to come over, all Prompto can do is murmur, “Okay.”

Noctis smiles, like Prompto’s just offered him a special treat that no one else ever could. He gives Prompto another kiss, fleeting this time, and says, “Thanks.”

Prompto nods. Noctis takes his hand and tugs him out of the bathroom, quickly dropping his hand again when they pass another student coming in.

* * *

Prompto’s apartment isn’t ready for guests, but he didn’t have any notice to clean up, and the mess isn’t the biggest problem anyway. It’s that it feels _empty_ , hollow—like Prompto’s whole life did until Noctis came along. Noctis walks in, takes in the boring beige walls, and politely comments, “It’s nice.”

It’s not, really, but Prompto appreciates the effort. As he kicks out of his shoes, he babbles again, “My parents aren’t around much, so...”

“Mine either,” Noctis jokes, with a conspirator’s smile that makes Prompto join in. A part of him feels the familiar pang of abandonment for Noctis, but another part is grateful that the king’s never walked in on him. It makes him wonder if Noctis could possibly be _lonely_. Sure, he has Ignis and Gladiolus, but they’re different—they’re his retainers, and Prompto still hasn’t seen anyone else their age around him. The queen died years ago, and Noctis almost never talks about his father. But it has to be different—he still has so many people that _love_ him.

Thinking about that is staining Prompto’s cheeks, so he pushes forward into the small apartment, bee-lining for the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he throws, “You hungry?”

He half expects a lame but nice ‘ _for you_ ’ joke, but Noctis just chimes, “Yeah—what’ve you got?”

“Nothing to rival Ignis...”

“Good, he made me eat a spinach casserole yesterday.”

Prompto snorts, “Poor you,” and elbows Noctis’ side when Noctis appears right next to him. Noctis playfully shoves him back. By now, Prompto knows well enough of Noctis’ vegetable aversion. It’s just as well—Prompto’s not much of a cook. He finds a supply of cup noodles in one of the cupboards, trying, “How about instant ramen?”

“Sounds good to me.”

There was a time when Prompto wouldn’t have believed that his royal highness would stomach cheap instant food, but he knows better now. He gets the water boiling, while Noctis wanders into the living room and calls back, “Where do you keep the games?”

* * *

As soon as dinner’s finished, they’re onto Triple Triad, crowded onto Prompto’s old, moth-eaten couch with the two-generation-old controllers in their hands. They play three rounds on a team against the computer, then devolve into versus with increasing goading and stakes. Noctis says he played as a kid, but he’s evidently out of practice, because Prompto’s just a _smidgen_ better. Yet when they make it to the Moon Rules tournament—the hardest one, in Prompto’s opinion, because it flips everything on its head—Noctis challenges: “Alright, why don’t we make this _really_ interesting? Let’s bet a blowjob on the next one.”

It’s bizarre, hearing how casually Noctis throws out that word. Casual Noctis is Prompto’s favourite kind. Mouth dry, Prompto agrees, “Sure,” even though _he_ should be the one getting on his knees any time Noctis wants it. As far as he’s concerned, he’ll be a winner either way.

The screen counts loudly down, and the full-screen board unfurls, stacking up the deck and showing both hands on either side of the screen. Two-player mode’s a bit of a joke that way, but Prompto finds moon rules complicated enough that it doesn’t matter if Noctis can see his cards. Noctis struggles too—it takes him forever to make his first move.

He does, and then Prompto goes, newly concentrating, and the two of them plod silently through the overly dramatic orchestral soundtrack. Now that there’s something real on the table, their normal banter falls by the wayside. Prompto’s too busy focusing and wondering if he should lose on purpose. For Noctis to up the stakes that way, he must want one, although he could’ve just asked. Prompto certainly wouldn’t have said no. Prompto’s not the sort of man who constantly fantasizes about a dick in his mouth, but once it’s on the table, and it’s _Noctis’_ dick on offer, it’s hard not to think about it. Which is ridiculously distracting.

Somehow, he wins anyway, and Noctis groans, collapsing back into the couch. The game throws confetti for Player Two. Prompto lets out a little, well earned, “Woo.”

“You’re good,” Noctis grunts. He straightens up again, sounding genuinely impressed. He shoves Prompto lightly in the side and slyly promises, “I’ll get you next time.”

“Pfft, whatever, dude.” 

The game prompts them to start another match, but Prompto pauses, because he already knows what Noctis wants.

Except Noctis is the one bending over Prompto’s lap. Prompto has to draw his controller out of the way, and he blushes up a storm as he protests, “Dude! You don’t really have to—”

“You won,” Noctis cuts in, giving Prompto a look of slight annoyance. “You think I don’t keep my word?”

Turning redder, Prompto shakes his head. “No, it’s just... I thought you were joking...?”

“I wasn’t.” Adjusting his body along the couch, curled up on it with his face now cradled in Prompto’s lap, perilously close to Prompto’s crotch, Noctis adds, “Unless you don’t want me to...”

Of _course_ Prompto wants a blowjob from the hottest guy in the kingdom. That’s not the point. A strange wall comes over Noctis’ face, giving it a guarded look, like he expects Prompto to push him away and is ready to fight. Prompto feels like he’s getting better at reading Noctis’ expressions. He feels like he’s really growing to _understand_ his enigmatic prince, but some things still blow his mind. 

He admits, “I totally want you to...”

“But?”

“You don’t have to?”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

Prompto frowns. Noctis looks up at him for a considerable length of time, then turns and presses a kiss against the growing bulge in Prompto’s jeans. It’s embarrassing to already be tenting, but Noctis always puts that in him, and Noctis is so _close_. Noctis gives Prompto’s clothed cock a longer kiss, then parts his lips and mouths at it, lightly tracing the outline and dampening the fabric. Prompto’s breathing is already erratic.

When Prompto doesn’t say anything else, Noctis unclasps his belt, drawing it slowly away, giving Prompto plenty of time to protest again. He doesn’t. The belt comes away, and Noctis pops the button above the zipper. Then he starts drawing the zipper down and mumbles, “It’s sort of my first, so... don’t be pissed if it sucks...” His cheeks are a little dark, his eyes fixed forward rather than looking up to Prompto’ again. Prompto’s quivering.

He already got to be Noctis’ _first_ , but now he’s going to be another one, and that’s way hotter than it should be. He doesn’t care if Noctis is inexperienced—he’s sure it’ll still be great. Just having Noctis’ head in his lap is great, Noctis hands working open his pants. With his fly down, Noctis runs a slow hand over Prompto’s stomach, thumb grazing the white band of his briefs. Then Noctis does glance up. Prompto numbly nods. 

Noctis draws Prompto’s cock out, and Prompto inhales sharply—he’s still mostly soft, but he hardens quickly in Noctis’ warm hands. Noctis holds him in both, pointing him forward and staring unabashedly at the head of Prompto’s cock. Prompto squirms in place, trying really hard to be still and behave, but he already wants to start humping Noctis’ face. Prompto tries to let Noctis take his time. It takes way too long for Noctis to tentatively lean in and draw his tongue over Prompto’s slit. Prompto shivers and bites down a moan. It’s the sight as much as the feeling that gets to him—the slight squeeze of Noctis’ thick fingers, the wetness of Noctis’ tongue, even the weigt of Noctis on his thighs. Noctis’ thumbs play experimentally with Prompto’s foreskin, and Prompto finally breaks, whining, “Noct—”

“Sorry,” Noctis mutters, and then he opens his mouth up and moves forward, right over the head of Prompto’s cock. Prompto cries out instantly, hands darting down into Noctis’ hair, but Noctis’ doesn’t go far. It’s for the best. It’s already a lot to handle. Noctis isn’t as wide as he should be, and Prompto can feel the slight scrape of his teeth, but it’s minor and tolerable, worth it for the tightness and heat of Noctis’ mouth. Noctis makes a muffled noise and swallows around Prompto’s girth. Prompto’s giddy.

He pets through Noctis’ soft hair and encourages, “That’s good...” Noctis glances up, swallowing again, then _sucking_ , and Prompto moans deep and forces his shuddering hips not to slam forward. Then Noctis pulls off, readjusts, and tries again.

This time, he goes too far—he has to pull back with a choking sound, rasping, “Sorry—”

“S’fine,” Prompto insists, “Just take half,” because _any_ part of Noctis is good and worth it. Noctis looks annoyed by the suggestion but listens—he slides again, not too far, but enough for Prompto to be blissfully happy. Noctis wraps one hand around the part that he can’t reach. Prompto’s completely hard. Noctis looks _amazing_ with Prompto’s dick wedged into his mouth. 

At first, Noctis’ movements are slow, probative, but he gets more into a rhythm as he goes, drawing mostly off before pushing down, starting to suck along the way, and Prompto should probably offer tips or guidance but is too busy soaking it all in. He plays with Noctis’ hair but doesn’t dare push Noctis down, even when he’s getting close to the edge and desperately wants to be buried in Noctis’ throat. The occasional dull sting of Noctis’ teeth holds him back just enough to last.

But then Noctis looks up at him with blue eyes so dilated they’re almost all black, spit-slicked lips spread wide and cheeks going pink. Prompto lets out a deep moan and lets Noctis suck him off the deep end. He comes right into Noctis’ mouth, arching up and thrumming with sheer _pleasure_ , unable to look away. Noctis makes a gagging sound and stills, but he stays on, adjusting before swallowing the load.

He has to swallow a few times, because Prompto keeps going, but when it’s over, Noctis still sucks cautiously, and that sends a delicious shiver up Prompto’s spine. He lets his head roll back onto the couch cushions, body slumping with satisfaction. Noctis slides off of him and licks his spent tip. 

“’S not too bad,” Noctis mutters, like he expected it to taste completely awful. Prompto belatedly remembers that they, once again, forgot a condom. So it’s a good thing he’s cutting off the others. And he thinks Noctis isn’t seeing anyone else either.

It’s basically just the two of them. In a... _not_ relationship. Noctis stays cradled in Prompto’s lap. He’s _amazing_. 

Prompto’s the one that moves first, tucking himself back in, even though his skin’s a little moist. Noctis’ lips are too, but he resists the urge to wipe them off. 

He collects his breath and reaches for Noctis’ crotch, but Noctis swats his hand away. “I can do you, too...”

“S’okay,” Noctis mumbles, “’M tired anyway.” Apparently, not too tired to give Prompto head. He glances up, and maybe he can read that on Prompto’s face, because he adds, “I just wanted to... I dunno, do something for you. Y’know, for taking me home.”

Prompto almost makes a lost puppy joke but then thinks better of it. Even though Noctis would be an adorable puppy. And Prompto would totally take him home and cherish him forever.

Even though it’s not his place, and it’s nowhere near as nice as Noctis’ apartment, Prompto says, “You’re welcome here any time.”

Noctis dons a lazy grin. Then he abruptly rolls over, facing out, and reaches past Prompto for the remote sitting on the couches’ arm. He asks, “Wanna watch something?”

Prompto glances at the window. It’s getting late again—well past dark. They got a late start, with all of Noctis’ classes as busy as they were. Noctis really should get home and sleep.

But Prompto doesn’t want to lose him yet and answers, “Sure.”

* * *

Prompto’s legs are completely asleep by the end of the movie. Noctis might be asleep too. Prompto’s not willing to move him to check. Prompto’s not willing to stretch his legs and dislodge the sleeping beauty in his lap. So he just keeps absently petting Noctis’ hair, as he’s done on and off all movie, and lets the credits roll.

They’re past the instrumental version of the theme song, onto just a silent stretch of white print on black, when Noctis yawns. Prompto’s hand freezes, then moves away as Noctis rolls onto his back. Looking down at him, Prompto wants to bend in and kiss him.

But it’s too late. Prompto tells him quietly, “You should call Ignis for a ride.”

Noctis frowns. Prompto’s frowning too. They don’t have school tomorrow—or at least, he doesn’t—but Noctis always has _something_ going on, and they can’t afford to blow any more of his valuable time. 

After a minute, Noctis mutters tiredly, “I want you.”

Prompto wants Noctis too. It feels too good to hear it. He should say that Noctis is too tired. He doesn’t.

He flicks the television off and finally nudges Noctis shoulder, and Noctis begrudgingly climbs off of him. Prompto rubs the pins and needles out of his thighs, then climbs off the couch and turns to offer his hand. 

Noctis takes it. Prompto half pulls him off the couch, guides him around it, and then towards the back.

Prompto’s bedroom is tiny compared to Noctis’. His mattress is low to the ground, up on a box-spring but no frame, and it takes up most of the floor. The turquoise curtains are still closed from when he ran out for class in the morning—he got a chance to come home to change after, and his uniform’s still tossed over his desk in the corner, but then he had to run back out again to meet Noctis at the campus. Noctis is still in his uniform, but he slips out of his jacket when he sees Prompto’s bed, collapsing right down onto it.

Prompto stares at him for a moment, sprawled out on _Prompto’s bed_ , cute but clearly exhausted, looking perfectly at home in all of Prompto’s squalor. Even though he’d like a better look, Prompto doesn’t turn the light on—just lets the hall light be enough. He’s still not convinced that Noctis is fully awake. Noctis holds his hand out to Prompto.

Prompto gives in, sinking down into it. He joins Noctis on the single mattress, wrinkling his blankets and sidling up close. Noctis tugs him in for a languid kiss, one with just a bit of tongue. Prompto kisses back with one hand on Noctis’ hip. Noctis wraps both arms around Prompto like he’s a teddy bear, then rolls them suddenly over, leaving Prompto on top of him, crushing him down. Noctis keeps the kiss going anyway. Prompto can feel that Noctis is half hard and wonders when that happened. Still holding onto him, Noctis repeats between kisses, “ _Want you_.” 

It doesn’t take long for Prompto to want the same thing. He grinds his hips down into Noctis’, and dragging across Noctis’ arousal gets him going just as much. He doesn’t want to stop kissing Noctis, but when Noctis’ hands are tugging at his belt loops, trying to pull his pants down, he knows he has to.

He gives Noctis a final kiss, mutters, “One sec,” and sits up, reaching over Noctis’ head and the headboard to pull out the top drawer of his desk. There’s a bottle of lube there and a pack of condoms, but he hesitates once he’s collected just the bottle. One glance back down, and Noctis’ lust-clouded eyes undo him. He sheepishly tries, “Could I, uh... ride you raw? I mean, I haven’t had anyone raw since, so I’m pretty sure I’m still good—” He hasn’t had _anyone_ since he took Noctis the first time, so there’s no way he has anything new, but it feels too pathetic to say that when Noctis knows what he does for money. Noctis just nods.

“Yeah—I mean, may as well now...” Which is probably stupid. Noctis shouldn’t just _trust_ him. But Prompto’s glad of it. He shuffles back down Noctis’ middle, and Noctis rips Prompto’s jeans right down his thighs. Prompto has to sit up and let Noctis tug them off, until he’s left with just his shirt. Neither of them bothers with the rest of their clothes. Noctis just holds onto Prompto’s hips while Prompto dips into the lube and draws his fingers to his hole. He figures Noctis is too tired for it, and it’ll be faster this way, easier—but Noctis seems to have fun just watching. Prompto stares down at Noctis as he works one finger into himself, then a second, stretching himself wider, because he knows exactly how big Noctis is. Noctis waits patiently. 

Then Prompto’s ready, and he starts on Noctis’ uniform, opening his pants enough to pull out his cock, nice and warm in Prompto’s hand. Prompto pumps it once before climbing over it. He guides it to his hole while Noctis palms down his thighs. Biting his lip, Prompto sinks down.

Noctis pops in with a wet groan. Prompto whines, adjusting to the stretch, trying to be still, but Noctis stutters up into him. His hands spread flat across Noctis’ chest, staining his shirt with excess lube, but Noctis doesn’t seem to care. He licks his lips and asks, “Can I...?”

Prompto doesn’t give an answer—he just does what he knows Noctis wants, because he wants it too. He tries to relax his channel and pushes further down, taking more of Noctis into him, gasping with each enormous centimeter and flexing wildly around it. Noctis makes the most beautiful moan. Prompto sinks fully onto him, until there’s nothing left to take, and Noctis’ fingers feel like they’re digging bruises into his hips. Fully impaled, Prompto shifts, trying to adjust the angle, then lifts up on his thighs and drops down.

Noctis hisses, and Prompto gasps, tossing his head back and rolling his hips, because he just grazed the right spot—and he hits it properly on the next one, and tries to go there every time—he starts bouncing up and down in Noctis’ lap, rolling into the perfect place as best he can. He lifts and grinds and rides Noctis in slow but dizzying circles—he’s a little tired too, and he can see how sleepy Noctis is, but Noctis feels _so good_ , and Prompto drowns in that. It isn’t just the feeling of being stuffed and plugged, but that enticing way that Noctis smells, the gorgeous way he looks, the alluring sounds he makes as Prompto rides him for all he’s worth. When Prompto’s head rolls back down, he finds Noctis staring straight up at his face. Connecting their eyes sends a shiver through Prompto. He licks his lips and diverts one hand to his cock, pumping it as he holds on.

Only a few thrusts later, Noctis bats him away and starts doing it for him. Noctis strokes him with both hands, slicked by the leftover lube, and minutely thrusts his hips up and down with Prompto’s movements. The small bedroom echoes with slapping sounds and heavy breathing. Prompto would ride Noctis all night if he could.

But Noctis is half gone already, and he shudders too soon, groaning and grabbing fiercely on as he pounds his release into Prompto’s body. Noctis’ ferocity seems to double for his orgasm, and seeing that, feeling that—feeling Noctis’ seed bubbling up inside him—is more than Prompto can take. He follows shortly after, clenching down around Noctis’ cock and splattering Noctis’ hands and shirt. Noctis pumps him out, still keeping their eyes locked together.

When they’re finished, Noctis goes boneless. He just lies there, hands falling away, watching Prompto like Prompto’s the best dream he ever had. Prompto tries to stay where he is for that, but eventually, he needs to collapse too. He pulls off Noctis, grunting at the loss, and lets Noctis pull him down into a welcoming embrace.

In a sweaty, overheated mess, the two of them cuddle atop the blankets. Even half undressed and leaking, Prompto doesn’t want to move. Noctis yawns next to him. Then Noctis nuzzles into his face and presses a kiss against his lips, asking, “Can I stay?”

Prompto figures he means stay overnight. Which is probably a terrible idea. But Prompto doesn’t ever want to let Noctis go, so it’s too easy to answer, “Sure.”

Noctis smiles so wonderfully. He shuts his eyes and snuggles closer into Prompto, shifting into a comfortable position. Prompto stays in Noctis’ arms until Noctis is breathing steadily and evenly and showing no signs of consciousness.

Then he detangles from Noctis, just long enough to shuffle over to the washroom. He cleans himself up in a sort of stupor, still heady from the afterglow and too spent to feel anything else. His ass is a little sore as he ambles back, but that makes for a pleasant reminder. Noctis stays asleep as Prompto wrestles them both under the covers and cuddles up to him. 

Prompto tries not to fall asleep, because dreams couldn’t possibly match reality.

* * *

He sleeps fantastically, deep and sound, only to be jarred awake by a familiar muffled ring tone. Prompto instinctively reaches out and pats the ground around him, landing on a patch of denim. His phone rings again, and Prompto fishes it dazedly out of his discarded jeans.

It’s a text from Noctis. It just reads: _Thanks._

For a long moment, Prompto stares blearily at the screen. His single bed is roomy again, because it only has him in it. It’s only _ever_ had him. Except for last night. He wishes he’d taken pictures. 

He doesn’t want to get up. The sun’s pushing through his too-light curtains, showing no sign of last night’s company, aside from the righted bottle of lube set against the far wall. And a sizeable stack of gil next to it.

He rolls over to face the wall. The money re-ignites a swarm of guilt. He shouldn’t be getting paid for acting out his dreams.

He wishes Noctis was still around. That’d be worth so much more. He knows that’s probably not possible. Noctis is probably off training, or studying, or doing any number of things in his very important life that doesn’t involve Prompto at all.

Prompto sulks in bed, stale and sore, for a good half hour before he breaks down and invites the pain all over again, texting back: _Good morning!_


	6. Limits

The entire history of Solheim is a complete and utter mess, and Noctis has no idea how his professors expect him to unravel it. He has even less idea what any of it will have to do with _his_ reign, but the last time he tried to talk his way out of university classes, his father threatened to move him back into the Citadel. Apparently, needless suffering is a requirement for living on his own.

There was a time when the weight of all of it felt unbearable. At least now he knows that relief is waiting for him at the end. He tries hard not to fully give into that escape, not to spend his lengthy study periods distracted on his phone, but he’s still immensely grateful every time it rings. Or vibrates. He has to turn his ring tone off for the school library—he gets enough looks as it is.

As soon as it vibrates again, he snatches it up. A picture loads in: a single video game case, held up by a hand with a familiar wristband. The cover shows a blocky, faceless blob of a human-ish being on a particularly polygonal mountainside. A caption follows it, reading: _pretty please?_

A grin tugs at Noctis’ lips. Prompto never asks him for anything—has never once even requested the money that Noctis automatically provides. But Noctis has wanted to get him _something_ —to gift him something more personal than cash. When Noctis steps back to analyze those wants, they’re strange—he should probably be wary of becoming some kind of sugar daddy. But he isn’t. He just wants to make Prompto _happy_.

He starts typing in a response, but another line comes in faster: _Like, can we play it together, I mean, not like, will you buy it for me._

Noctis pauses. Prompto’s typing again.

_I know the cover looks super goofy, but I saw this let’s play of it last night, and even though the game’s totally broken, it sounded like they were having so much fun, but I looked up a review and it said single-player mode sucked..._

_Sorry for the block of text. TL;DR: Play dumb game with me?_

He shouldn’t even have to ask. Even if two-player mode sucks, Noctis would still try it with him. Noctis asks, _Are you in the store?_

Prompto answers, _Yep. You want anything?_

It’s cheesey and awful, but Noctis says, _You._

_:,)_

A pause, and Prompto adds, _Play game, get me? ;)_

Noctis almost snorts. His history book lies untouched beneath the phone, and Noctis deliberately stalls to avoid returning to it. _Give you, get game._

_They only have one copy left... if I run over to you, it might not be here when I get back. D:_

Noctis can’t see Prompto for another two days anyway; his schedule’s full. But he teases: _No deal._

_Noooooct..._

Noctis can easily imagine Prompto whining his name, pouting and adorable. Before he can say he’s only joking, Prompto tries: _I give pics of me? You game? Yes?_

Biting the inside of his lip to resist chuckling at how their language has devolved, Noctis asks, _What kind of pics?_

_Whatever pics Noct wants? :,)_

_I don’t think you should be stripping in the middle of a game store._

_You want me to strip? Pervert._

He’s _so_ ridiculous. Noctis is so into him. While Noctis is still struggling with internal laughter, Prompto tells him, _Actually, there is a washroom here... if Noct really wants me to do naughty things..._

That sort of ends the joke. As hot as the idea is, Noctis wouldn’t actually make Prompto do that. He begrudgingly replies, _I’m in the school library. So... couldn’t enjoy them yet anyway._

A few seconds pass. Probably enough for Noctis to return to studying. He doesn’t. He waits until the next message comes through: _Okay, final deal, I send you naughty pictures for later that I may or may not already have on my phone, and you agree to play this bad game with me._

Noctis pauses. He sends: _What kind of naughty pictures?_ Even though it shouldn’t matter. Any pictures of Prompto are good pictures, especially the naughty kind.

_Promise not to judge?_

_Sure._

_...I may have a few... uh... ass pics..._

Noctis blinks. _You take those for photo class?_

 _Haha, very funny._ The ellipses appear. _I take them in case a cute boy has something I want and needs persuading. Like rn, thank you very much. ;P_

Noctis’ first reaction is a pleasant feeling at Prompto calling him _cute_ , but then it abruptly sinks.

 _A_ cute boy. He should’ve remembered that there are others. For all he knows, the pictures he’s about to get were taken for another man. The thought is vaguely nauseating. Worse, Prompto could’ve called other men _about that very game_ , and maybe Noctis was just the first one to answer. Or the last one to know, and all the others said no. He hesitates for a long moment, wondering if he even wants the pictures. 

He _does_.

He’s grateful that the bitterness can’t come through in text like it would in his voice. He answers curtly, _Sure, send them. I’ll buy you the game._

Slowly, a photograph loads, displaying nothing but Prompto’s backside, laid out across the sheets of what Noctis now recognizes as his bed. His hips are slightly lifted off the mattress—he must’ve had to twist around to hold the camera. His other hand is spreading his cheeks, one finger tugging at his puckered hole. For a split second, _lust_ punctures Noctis’ annoyance. Another picture loads in, then another: three perfect ass shots that Noctis is definitely going to jerk off to later, no matter how much he’s disturbed by the idea that others will too.

Prompto follows them up with: _Don’t worry about the game; I got this one. ;)_

In a sudden surge of possessiveness, Noctis insists, _No, I wanna buy it. But then you can only play it with me._ He sends it too fast. He knows immediately that that sounded ridiculous. He tries to save it with: _I don’t want the disc to get scratched or for you to see any cool levels before I do._

That probably still sounds crazy. Prompto answers, _Idk. You already pay me so much..._

 _Then don’t think of it like it’s for you. It’ll be my game, but we’ll just keep it at your house._ Which probably sounds even worse. Prompto’s the one that wants the game. He should own it.

He seems to vacillate between answers before one finally sends. _Okay. If this ends, I’ll bring it to school for you._

Noctis reads it twice before understanding. Prompto means if _they_ end. At least it says if, not when. He wants to say they _won’t_ , but that’s not up to him, and there’s no good way to say it. 

_Keep the receipt. I’ll pay you back._

_Thanks, Noct. <3_

A few minutes later, Noctis gets an adorable selfie of Prompto outside the store, smiling and holding up the game and the receipt. It’s accompanied by a text: _Got it! You now own this garbage, and I won’t ever touch it without your express permission!_

If it weren’t for the word ‘garbage’, Noctis could pretend he owned _everything_ in the frame. At least the caption somewhat soothes his jealousy.

There’s no running from it anymore. He is definitely, undeniably _jealous_. Over someone he can never have.

The history textbook is still open in front of him. It’s full of stories of kings and queens who married only for power, occasionally gathering concubines they ultimately cast aside. It always makes him feel weird to think that someday _he’ll_ be a name in someone’s textbook.

And it couldn’t read _loved a commoner._ The very real here-and-now would never let him. The council would throw a fit. His father would be furious. They’d certainly be angry if they new Noctis spent almost his entire allowance buying sex, but, somehow, he thinks they’d be more angry over _feelings_. He couldn’t ask Prompto out properly, even if he thought Prompto wanted it. They need the forced veil of secrecy. 

He stares at the last selfie anyway. For a brief moment, Noctis entertains the fleeting fantasy that his boyfriend just bought a game for their shared household and would never even think to play it with anyone but Noctis.

* * *

He keeps thinking about it— _dating_ Prompto—all the many ways he could slowly, after months, years of secrecy, bring it up to Ignis. Then Ignis would quietly broach the subject with his father. Then his father would express grave disappointment in him, Noctis would throw a tantrum, and they’d make up in a few years. The council would begrudgingly accept that Noctis wasn’t willing to be with anyone else. They’d send him rows of suitors— _proper_ partners, women that could bear children, then, finally, nobleman with the stipulation that Noctis would still father any children. But Noctis would refuse them all. He’s his own man and maintains that stubbornness throughout his daydreams. He fights their prejudices until they break down, and Noctis moves Prompto into the Citadel, and they live happily ever after or something else as inane and sappy.

Then someone finds out that he paid Prompto for sex, it’s a huge scandal, Prompto cries profusely and admits he just needed the money and maybe liked the sex, but the Citadel’s a cage he doesn’t want, and he leaves Noctis to go be free. Or sleep with Ignis instead. Because while he’s breaking his own heart, might as well go full nightmare. Ignis is already mad at him in this scenario, because he hid it for so long. They get to go live their happy commoner lives, and Noctis remains miserable, while Gladiolus berates him for being stupid enough to think it could ever happen any other way.

Noctis is in the middle of mentally firing Gladiolus, because he might as well be _totally_ alone, when Prompto quietly asks, “Noct?”

Noctis spirals back into the moment, and Prompto quirks his fingers, wracking a sharp hiss out of Noctis. The strangeness returns, the slight discomfort—but no pain; the dull ache of having his insides stretched open has been eased away. He wonders distantly how long Prompto’s been fingering him—how much he lost himself in that ridiculous train of thought. He’s too tired again. He’s too _relaxed_. He’s on his back in his own bed, naked but warm, with Prompto kneeling between his legs and gently fingering him open. It’s like being massaged from the inside. Prompto asks, “Are you sure...?”

Noctis nods. He doesn’t have the strength, physically or mentally, to take Prompto like he wants to. And he wants Prompto to be _all_ his firsts. Prompto looks so gorgeous in the dim light of his bedroom, wearing nothing but his uniform shirt, open down the middle but still clinging to his shoulders, a green-and-white wristband at the end of one arm. He looks pristine, but Noctis already smells of sweat—it’s a Saturday, which means rigorous training after two essays and a public appearance at the new soup kitchen being built. Gladiolus kicked his ass, because he was already tired then. And he couldn’t stop thinking about this. Couldn’t wait to get home and call Prompto, stir up all his painful feelings, and try to lose them all in sex.

He reaches up for Prompto’s collar, and he lightly tugs at it, drawing Prompto down. Prompto descends over him, melting right into him when Noctis presses their lips together. He gives Prompto a languid, lazy kiss, then pushes Prompto back up and orders, “Fuck me.”

Prompto nods dazedly. It’s dark in Noctis’ room, but he thinks Prompto’s eyes are dilated extra wide. Prompto withdraws his fingers from Noctis’ body, leaving Noctis to shudder and whine—it feels so _weird_ , being open like that—but then Prompto’s cock is pressing against him. He knows he should use a condom. But Prompto’s promised he wouldn’t go raw with anyone else, and Noctis trusts him. He knows it’s stupid. He doesn’t care.

He braces himself as Prompto presses inside, soft and slow and _thick_. He grits his teeth, tensing, and Prompto halts instantly. He rubs Noctis’ thighs and murmurs, “Shh, Noct... you gotta relax...”

Noctis knows that. He’s not an idiot. But his body’s all tense anyway. Prompto waits as Noctis shakes and gradually unwinds again, then thrusts a little deeper.

The farther Prompto goes, the harder his cock feels, the spongy tip plunging deeper and the rigid, unforgiving shaft taking over. Noctis tries to keep himself loose, but he doesn’t know how, and Prompto keeps stopping to allow for it. Prompto only goes a little bit at a time, rocking in and out with each minute thrust. He breathes as he goes, “Fuck... you feel really good, Noct...”

Noctis is glad of it. He doesn’t know if Prompto feels good yet. He likes the _idea_ of it—of having Prompto in him, and he likes part of the stretch, but most of it’s just _odd_. It helps when Prompto praises him, petting him and moaning, “Can’t believe I’m really taking you... you’re amazing...”

That makes Noctis wonder if Prompto’s other clients let him fuck them. Which makes him feel special. Which makes it better—he clenches down around Prompto’s cock, like Prompto’s done to him, and Prompto tosses his head back and lets out a filthy groan. He looks so hot. Noctis could stare at him for hours.

Noctis grabs Prompto’s shirt and tugs him down by it again. This time Prompto waits, rolling in deeper, and then he seems to bottom out, fully sheathed, because it doesn’t feel like Noctis is taking any more as he grinds in. Prompto wraps one hand, still slick with lube, around Noctis’ cock, pumps it a few times until it’s rock solid, then comes down for more kisses. 

The angle is a bit awkward, but they make it work. Noctis’ thighs lift to Prompto’s sides, clinging on, and he lets his hands roam over Prompto’s back, his tongue in Prompto’s mouth. Prompto starts to draw out, then presses in, slow and steady—perfect for Noctis’ tired mood. Prompto always seems to read him right. They’ve had frantic sex, charged and wild, and they’ve had it leisurely and gentle, had it on both their couches and both their beds, once on the floor in Noctis’ living room because Prompto had gotten down to suck him off and Noctis had practically tackled him. It’s everything every time, and yet it’s never enough—Noctis always wants him again afterwards. Noctis wants _more_. He wrestles with Prompto’s shirt, and Prompto pauses their kissing long enough to shimmy out of it and toss it over the bed. 

Noctis gasps as another stroke fills him, then runs one hand into Prompto’s hair and slides the other down Prompto’s sculpted arm, aiming for his wristband. Noctis wants Prompto _bare_.

But when he reaches the wristband, Prompto stills. He shifts inside Noctis, pushes Noctis’ hand away, and mutters, “No.”

Noctis doesn’t understand. But Prompto gives him another thrust, and he doesn’t care. He promises, “Okay.” Prompto lets out a breath that sounds too shaken for how careful the sex is. He returns to Noctis’ mouth, and Noctis happily takes him.

The next thrust is at a different angle, and another different one, and that time, it hits something—nudges the perfect spot that sets off a jolt of pleasure deep inside him. Noctis shivers with it, moaning loudly, and Prompto aims for it again next time. Prompto drives into it, strokes Noctis’ cock, and kisses Noctis senseless. Noctis _loves it_.

He loves everything. All of the day’s worries ebb out of him, the stress falling away, replaced with the warm, bubbling feeling that is _Prompto Argentum_. He clutches onto Prompto and strokes down Prompto’s back, threads through Prompto’s hair, sucks on Prompto’s tongue. Prompto builds him up to the edge, until Noctis is breathing a husky, “ _Prom_ —” and splattering Prompto’s hand. Prompto groans with him and keeps stroking him, keeps filling him, littering the side of his mouth in kisses as he writhes and moans. 

The orgasm is delightful. Perfect. And he still loves it even when he’s coming down, when the mind-numbing pleasure is trickling out into a pleasant afterglow. It feels strange again to have Prompto’s cock moving inside him, but in a good way—he enjoys the remnants as his boneless body accepts Prompto’s movements. Prompto comes shortly after, filling Noctis up with a warm liquid that he clenches curiously down around. Prompto practically has tears in his eyes by the end of it. His eyes are glossy, and he buries his face in Noctis’ shoulder, choking out a sob.

Noctis pets his hair. He slumps, pausing before he withdraws. It immediately feels way weirder, being empty, being stretched so wide, dribbling onto his sheets. It was still worth it. Prompto collapses half on top of him. Noctis kisses his forehead.

Noctis will have to clean up this time, he knows. He can’t just fall asleep with a mess inside him and dotting his sheets. He’ll have to change them before Ignis notices. But he doesn’t want to break the moment and get up. 

At least he thinks Prompto will stay. Prompto usually stays now, if it’s not a school night, and Noctis never brings up leaving. They always part first thing in the morning, but it’s worth it. He sleeps better on the nights that Prompto’s in his bed. Nightmares wake him up less, and when they do, it calms him to feel Prompto sleeping next to him. 

Prompto’s always there on the few free nights he has. Which at least gives Noctis some hope: either Prompto’s other clients don’t call him as much, or Noctis takes priority. 

It’s not enough. He looks at Prompto’s face, flushed and panting, and plays with the words before he finally lets them escape his mouth: “How much for exclusivity?”

“What?” Prompto’s eyes, previously off in the distance, come shooting back down to focus in on Noctis’ face. Noctis swallows. 

It’s too late to turn back. He clarifies, “For you to only sleep with me.”

Prompto looks... vaguely flabbergasted. Noctis quickly adds, “I’ll pay you enough to make up for it.” He has no idea how much that would be, but Prompto doesn’t make any suggestions, so Noctis pushes, “A thousand a week.” But that doesn’t seem like enough—he’d pay more than that for a single hour with Prompto. He fiercely corrects, “No, two.”

Prompto’s eyes grow wide. Noctis forces himself not to up it to three thousand. He’d pay that gladly. But he doesn’t want to sound as desperate as he is.

Prompto flounders for a minute before mumbling, “Noct, that’s crazy...”

Noctis’ face falls. Prompto scrambles, “N-no, not exclusivity—I mean the money—”

With a surge of relief, Noctis insists, “It’s worth it to me.”

“But I can’t accept that...”

“Fourteen hundred, then. That’s enough for a round every night, and you probably weren’t—I mean, I assume...” He cuts himself off, probably blushing from head to toe and wishing he hadn’t said that. Prompto’s colouring is pale enough that Noctis can tell he’s blushing too, even in the relative darkness. “Sorry.”

Prompto seems to struggle. Noctis regrets so many things. Eventually, Prompto weakly mutters, “That’s too much...”

At least Noctis knows that Prompto’s not _entirely_ using him for money. Prompto said, way back when they started, that it was only ever _casual_ , just a _thing_ he did, but it didn’t click at the time. Noctis feels guilty offering less, but Prompto already looks uncomfortable, so he concedes, “A thousand.”

Prompto opens his mouth. But Noctis says, “ _Please_ ,” and he closes it again.

He nods.

It’s too lackluster. Noctis’ brain wants to just leave it there, but his conscience pushes out, “If you don’t wanna do it...”

“No,” Prompto cuts in. He shifts in bed, drawing his naked body along Noctis’, his softening cock poking into Noctis’ hip. He stretches his arm across Noctis’ middle. It’s getting a little cold in his room, but Noctis doesn’t move for the blanket yet. He knows better than to invite Prompto for a hot shower. They’ll clean up separately. Prompto finishes, “It’ll only be you. I promise.”

The growing, vicious jealousy tempered, Noctis swells with relief. Prompto smiles hopefully at him.

He kisses Prompto, chaste but long. They linger there together, lying next to one another and overlapping, until it gets too cold to bear. Then Noctis leaves for the first shift in the washroom, while Prompto cuddles up in his blankets and waits for his return.

* * *

Noctis has never been so grateful for a weekend. His alarm doesn’t wake him—he gets to come to slowly, noticing the change piece by piece—the dip in the mattress beside him, the faint scent of a different cologne, the familiar warmth of Prompto’s body. The sun streams in through his ineffective curtains, and Noctis just gets to _look_ at Prompto. He looks _so good_ , and he’s still naked from last night, and Noctis knows that once he wakes up fully, he’s going to be all over that. Prompto normally leaves after waking and a quick stint in the washroom. Noctis doesn’t want that to happen this time.

Then again, Noctis never does. He enjoys Prompto’s company too much. Even when they’re not having sex. He wants to snuggle up to Prompto and fall back asleep, and just sort of bask in it, spending an entire day under the covers with the best thing that ever happened to him, but then his phone pings.

Noctis immediately rolls over to pluck it off the nightstand. He doesn’t _want_ to answer it, but he also doesn’t want it to chime again and wake up Prompto. Because Prompto’s clearly asleep, the text is from one of the only few other people it could be: Ignis.

_I’ll be over in half an hour with this month’s schedule; please be awake and dressed._

A sharp spike of panic lances through Noctis, even though he has thirty minutes still to fix everything—kick Prompto out, hide the stained sheets, shower, and get out of ditzy-crush mode. 

Realistically, he’s always known it’s only been a matter of time—it’s a miracle they’ve made it as long as they have. If Ignis weren’t so polite and punctual and instead just burst in often, they’d have been screwed from the beginning. It’s still been difficult to hide. He doesn’t like _lying_ to Ignis, but it’s necessary. It’s hard to keep his phone always hidden, to remember to never leave it lying around, to make up elaborate excuses for the nights where he’s stayed at Prompto’s. He’s still not convinced that Ignis actually _bought_ the excuse that he just fell asleep while over studying, but it helps that Noctis _does_ tend to fall asleep in awkward places. Then he reminded Ignis that he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders, he’s completely overwhelmed, and Prompto’s the one ray of sunshine he has—and Ignis, albeit looking somewhat hurt, dropped the subject.

Noctis isn’t ready to do it all again. He’s not ready to go back to his chore of a reality. He types out several different excuses before managing: _I was just about to go out for breakfast. Can we postpone?_

For once, Ignis doesn’t respond immediately. Noctis isn’t surprised. He knows how suspicious he sounds. It takes a good moment for Ignis to repeat, _You’re going out for breakfast._

 _Yeah._ He wills Ignis to buy it.

It doesn’t work. _And you don’t just want me to pick up something for you._

 _I don’t want something healthy, okay? Don’t lecture me about it; I’m a grown man._ He feels guilty for how rude that sounds. But he has to be convincing. He has to shut it down.

_And you’re going by yourself?_

It would be easy to say he’s meeting Gladiolus. But then Ignis would just text Gladiolus, and he knows better than to ask Gladiolus to lie to Ignis for him. He finally admits a half-truth: _I’m meeting a friend._

_Prompto?_

_Yeah._ As though he has any other. He tries to play it off as a joke. _Don’t be jealous; I’ll get dinner with you later._

The ellipses appear for a whole minute without disappearing. Every second that pauses is another word in Ignis’ likely giant paragraph. Noctis’ stomach is churning painfully.

But then they do stop, and nothing comes through.

A second later: _Very well. Can you be ready at 11?_

Noctis doesn’t risk teasing ‘pm?’ He just says, _Sure. Thanks, Specs._

 _Enjoy your breakfast._ The fact that nothing else comes through after that, cautioning Noctis against indulging too much in cheap sugar, isn’t at all a good sign. 

Noctis doesn’t dare pick at it. He closes his phone. 

He’s just set in on the shelf when Prompto yawns beside him. Noctis settles down to watch Prompto rub the sleep out of his eyes, then scrub off the tiny bit of dried drool on the corner of his mouth. He immediately blushes after realizing that, but Noctis isn’t in a teasing mood and doesn’t pick on him for it. Noctis just kisses him. He ‘mmphs’ back but sleepily responds.

His breath tastes stale. Noctis’ probably does too. Noctis doesn’t care.

Noctis wants to roll over on top of him, slip deep inside him, and pound into him until the bed frame breaks. But that chance has gone out the window, and instead, Noctis says, “I’ll give you two hundred to go get breakfast with me.”

Prompto blinks. That opens his blue eyes all the way, shaking off any last remnants of dreams. Noctis anxiously waits until Prompto snorts and shoves his shoulder. “Dude, _I’m_ the one newly rich. How about breakfast on me?” He even grins, bright and beautiful, which makes it hard for any of Noctis’ worries not to shrivel away.

Even though he knows they won’t have time, he mutters, “I might also want a blowjob after.”

Prompto blushes fiercer, shoves his shoulder harder, laughs, and kisses him.

* * *

It’s basically a date.

Or maybe even just a friend thing. Which is good too. He’d _love_ for Prompto to really be his friend, instead of just in the make-believe way they present him to Ignis and Gladiolus. They pour over the menu, going back and forth—“Hey, you want the pancake mountain to split?” “Nah, I kinda want waffles. But can I have some of your pancakes?” “Dude, I’m not gonna buy a _mountain_ if it’s just me eating it.” “You think the hazelnut sauce has, like... actual nuts?”

They finally order crepes, Noctis with chocolate and cream and Prompto with fresh fruit. The waitress smiles at both of them and giggles as she leaves, but Prompto’s eyes don’t follow her, and Noctis’ don’t either. The waffle house is a cozy, well-lit little place done up in yellows and beige, with booths for seats and a long counter for a milkshake bar. In yesterday’s disheveled school uniform, Prompto looks like the sort of picturesque cutie that Noctis would’ve fantasized about in high school. Noctis didn’t have time to pick a great outfit—he just threw on a black sweater and some jeans, while Prompto sat in bed and ogled him. His hair’s probably still a mess, but that might be a good thing—no one’s recognized him yet. Prompto doesn’t seem to care if he looks too sloppy to be a prince. 

Prompto looks around the restaurant and sighs, “This place is adorable—I wish I had my camera.”

“Your phone takes good pictures,” Noctis reminds him, speaking from experience.

Prompto blushes—he must know what pictures Noctis means. “Pfft, as if. It’s nowhere near as good.”

Noctis thinks of asking how photography classes are going, but the last thing he wants to think about is school on a weekend. So he randomly asks instead, “You ever go fishing?”

“Fishing? What, like... for fish?”

“No, for boots,” Noctis snorts, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. He’s more awake than usual for a Sunday morning, but he’s still not one hundred percent there.

Prompto shrugs defensively. “Hey, I didn’t know people still did that.”

“I do that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Y’know, when they let me.” Which is hardly ever. Prompto wrinkles his nose.

“You mean the people at... fishing holes or whatever they’re called? Can’t you order them too?”

Noctis snorts. “Not how it works, Prom. But no, I meant, like, my handlers and shit. I rarely get out of the city. And I get too much attention here—the other anglers all know I’m into it.”

Prompto shrugs again. “I didn’t.”

“Jeez, Prom, you need to read more articles about me.”

Prompto laughs, which is perfect, because Noctis meant it as a joke—he’s glad Prompto doesn’t know _everything_ about him, even though so many people do. Prompto salutes and promises, “I’ll study up as soon as I leave, honest! You can even quiz me next time!”

Noctis groans and begs, “No, please.”

Something muffled chirps. Prompto frowns, glancing at the schoolbag beside him on his bench, but Noctis knows it was him. He’s tempted to ignore it. He glances over at the manual clock hung over the cash register. 11:05. He lost track of time again. They shouldn’t have picked a place so far away or wasted time reading reviews. Or spent time making out in the washroom at the subway platform. He should’ve told Prompto it couldn’t last.

He grunts, “Sorry,” and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, it’s Ignis: _You’re late._

_Sorry. The place was further than I thought it’d be._

And they haven’t even eaten yet. And he doesn’t want to leave.

_When do you think you’ll be home?_

_I dunno; it’s really busy here. Can you just leave my schedule on the counter? We can go over it later._

_Noctis, we need to talk._

Noctis’ stomach drops. Prompto mumbles, “Everything okay...?”

 _As you know, I manage your account. And I can’t help notice that for the last few months, your spending’s been through the roof. I let it slide for the first month, because usually, you hardly spend anything, and I decided you deserved a little splurge every now and then._ The character limit must be maxed out. It ends in 1/2. Then the second comes in.

_Gladio convinced me to leave it alone on the second, as you aren’t technically over your limit. But now that we’re going on three, I’m afraid I really must ask for an explanation. I’m aware that your money should be your choice, but as your official advisor, I would like to know where so much is going._

Noctis doesn’t know what to say. He thinks of snapping _it is my choice_ but can’t do that. He wishes Ignis had just waited to say that in person. Even though Noctis is the one that made that hard.

“Noct?”

He looks up. Prompto looks so worried, like he really _cares_.

He’s worth every gil.

The waitress returns to set two steaming plates down before them. Noctis hardly hears her talking. 

He answers, _Later_ , and pockets his phone again, ignoring the subsequent rings. 

Prompto carves a dorky smile into his crepe to try and cheer Noctis up, licks chocolate off Noctis’ fingers, and takes a selfie on his phone of the two of them grinning sheepishly. It becomes his new wallpaper. 

He pays, humming an old song about money, and the two of them walk towards the subway with their hands touching—but not quite intertwined.


	7. For-

“How much further?”

“GPS says... six light-years.”

Noctis groans, and Prompto laughs, turning his phone and swiping the map larger—they should only be a few blocks away, but according to the same app, they were only a few blocks away ten minutes ago. Prompto knows they’re horribly lost but doesn’t _really_ mind—he’d rather be lost with Noctis than in the right place on his own. They’re still kind of having fun. But maybe Noctis doesn’t think so, because he mutters, “My feet are killing me...”

“I thought you had, like... intense training and stuff?”

“That’s _why_ my feet are killing me! I did all that shit this morning—this is supposed to be my break!”

Prompto gets a pang of sympathy and slows his steps. Noctis automatically stops beside him. He tries to reorient the map again, but for Noctis’ sake, suggests, “Maybe we should just ask for directions. It might get us there quicker...”

Noctis grunts in a vaguely discouraging way. Awkwardly shrugging, he scratches the back of his neck and admits, “I don’t really wanna talk to people if I can help it... they might recognize me, so... are you sure your phone’s working? Maybe we should use mine.”

Prompto’s sure but still concedes, “Okay, try yours.” He doesn’t really care himself how long they take, so long as they find the collector’s shop before all the new Justice Monster figurines are sold out. Noctis pulls out his phone and opens its map.

There are several pins dotted across Insomnia. Prompto can’t help seeing them, and Noctis tells him offhandedly, “It’s set for fishing stuff.”

“Oh.” Noctis glances up at him, but Prompto just smiles, not having a whole lot to say. He doesn’t know anything about fishing. It’s not exactly a hobby he would’ve expected from one of his peers, but it’s interesting. He throws out, “Maybe we should go fishing sometime.”

Noctis blinks at him, then grows a wide grin. “Really?” Squinting skeptically but still smiling, he presses, “You’d wanna do that...?”

“Sure. It’s bound to have some cool scenery, right? Maybe I can get some great nature pics.”

“Totally. Nothing prettier than a pristine lake and a quiet dock.” Noctis pauses, then adds, “’Cept your butt.”

Prompto bursts out laughing, which earns them a few looks from others passing by on the street, but Noctis’ sly grin is worth it. Noctis turns his phone sideways, glances up at the nearest street sign, and continues, “Maybe I can get it cordoned off and we can go skinny dipping after. Then you can finally wash your wristband.”

Prompto was smiling too, but it dies at the last comment. He was really, really hoping Noctis hadn’t noticed the wristband thing. 

Fortunately, Noctis doesn’t seem to notice the storm he’s brought over Prompto’s mood—he’s busy trying to locate himself on his phone, pacing a few steps towards the corner and peering down the intersection. Prompto obediently follows, but his mind is somewhere else.

He knows he has to tell Noctis soon. He doesn’t want to think about it. But it isn’t _fair._ Noctis is paying for exclusivity, probably to keep him clean and unmarred, when in reality, he bears the worst mark he possibly could. He can’t hide it forever, and he doesn’t want to. He hates lying to Noctis. 

Noctis calls, “Hey,” and Prompto’s head snaps up. Gladiolus looks over, halfway down the street, dressed in casual sweats and even a ball cap. Prompto’s only met him a few times, all briefly save the first dinner. Gladiolus wanders up to them, every bit as huge and intimidating as usual, but for once, Prompto’s too worried about himself to worry over giants.

“Good to see you off the couch,” Gladiolus jokes, stopping right in front of them. Noctis rolls his eyes.

“You make it sound like I’m lazy.”

“You _are_ lazy.” Noctis wrinkles his nose, and Gladiolus chuckles, “Hey, I’d actually been meaning to talk to you about that—I think we should up your training difficulty.”

Noctis instantly groans. “Are you kidding? Why? You can barely keep up with me as it is!”

“Brat,” Gladiolus snorts. “But if you think you’re so tough, how about we bring in a few other glaives to fight you? They’re gonna expect you to be better than them.”

“I _am_ better than them!”

“Nah. If you were working hard enough, you wouldn’t be out shopping now—you’d be at home on the floor because training left you bathing in sweat and shaking.”

Prompto blushes. He’s never seen Noctis’ special training before, never realty thought about it, but now the mental image of Noctis, slick with sweat and poised to spring, comes barreling into him. Noctis whines, “You’re a monster.” Gladiolus laughs, and Prompto looks at him, wondering what that training’s _really_ like. He’s willing to bet that Noctis is _amazing_ , quick and strong with stellar style. But does he have special clothes for it, or does he train shirtless? Or just in his uniform, peeling off layer after layer as Gladiolus works him harder...?

“You should come along sometime,” Gladiolus suggests, suddenly eyeing Prompto. “Seriously. If you’re gonna hang out with his highness, you should know how to protect his royal ass.”

As much as Prompto knows he’d lose every sparring mach ever, he’d still happily go and have Noctis manhandle him into defeat. Noctis answers for him: “Leave him alone, Gladio. And leave me alone, too.”

“Hey, you flagged _me_ down.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna talk shop.”

“Yeah, well, I’m in a knightly mood. Just reserved a Kaliva figure I’m gonna give Iggy for his birthday. Don’t tell him—I’m just telling you so you won’t get him the same thing.”

“You already got there?” Noctis splutters. “How? That place is impossible to find!”

It’s Gladiolus’ turn to roll his eyes. “You’re hopeless without him, you know that?” Thankfully, Gladiolus doesn’t point out that Prompto’s obviously hopeless too, just turns and points back the way he came. “You’re heading to Square Co., yeah? It’s just over there, three blocks down and on your right. The shipment’s not in yet, but they’re taking reservations. And given how long they stalled production and how many people have been waiting, you’ll be lucky to get a Toby.” 

Noctis abruptly pushes past him, clearly ready to run for that merchandise. Prompto sheepishly follows, telling Gladiolus, “Thanks.”

He chases after Noctis, wondering if maybe he _should_ ask about joining training, just to be in more of Noctis’ life. Especially if Noctis showers off after a hard round. But then Prompto remembers that he can’t.

* * *

He can’t keep being with Noctis, of course. 

His apartment feels extra empty now, on the many days where Noctis is too busy for him, and he’s stuck just lounging about editing pictures or watching television. Even gaming’s not as fun anymore when he does it alone. He lies across the living room couch with his feet over the armrest, looking at his wristband.

There’s been one too many opportunities to climb in the shower with Noctis. He’s already seen Noctis naked, yes, but he could have _more_ of it, and he could have Noctis _wet_ , and the two of them could fool around together even after sex, cleaning one another up in the tub. There aren’t a whole lot of other situations where he’d have to strip out of everything, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t possibilities that _something_ will happen—sooner or later, Noctis has to know.

If for no other reason, Noctis has to know because it’s eating Prompto up. Every moment they spend together, Prompto gets a little more attached, and he’s already all in. He thinks about Noctis constantly, _wants_ Noctis constantly, and that’s only going to get worse as time goes on. They’re too compatible. Despite everything Prompto would’ve thought, they work too well together. 

And Prompto can’t afford to be in love with the Lucian prince.

It takes everything in him to type the simple phrase ‘ _I want to talk_ ’ into his phone. It sounds less ominous than ‘ _we need to talk_ ’ but still bad. He doesn’t want to worry Noctis. It’s likely they won’t be able to meet up right away, and it needs to be done in person. Prompto finally corrects it to ‘ _I’d like to talk to you about something_ ’ and hits send.

It’s a good twenty minutes before Noctis answers: _me too._

Prompto blinks. His first thought is the obvious: that Noctis is going to end things. Which would sort of make things easier. Prompto wouldn’t have to be the one to do it. The thought still makes him sick.

He slowly asks, _When’s good for you?_

_Sorry, not free again til Friday._

_Friday works._

_Cool, see you then._

Prompto doesn’t answer again: the conversation’s done. Instead he sets his phone on his chest and stares up at the ceiling. Friday’s not a school night, so maybe that means Noctis still wants Prompto to sleep over.

Or maybe he has training in the morning anyway, or maybe he wasn’t even thinking about that and is just only free then. At least it gives Prompto two days. Two days of mind-numbing anxiety.

It’s enough time to pack all of his things just in case he’s exiled. He doesn’t have the guts to phone his parents and tell them what’s coming, because then he’d have to explain that he knows the prince, and then he’d have to lie about what they are and how he feels. It’ll be easier to just call them after he’s deported. But maybe Noctis won’t throw him out. _Maybe_.

Noctis is a good person. He’s kind, and fair—he’ll be an amazing king some day.

But he was also lied to for _months_ and tricked into sleeping with a Nif, even though that was never Prompto’s intention. He never thought they’d go far enough for it to matter. Yet exile isn’t even the scariest part.

Prompto just doesn’t want to lose _Noctis_. He’ll be devastated. The apartment, the university, everything he knows here—none of that matters as much as Noctis does.

Prompto rolls over into the couch, burying his face in the cushions, trying to stop shaking.

His phone slides off him. He catches it before it disappears into the nether regions of the couch. It’s way too late after they talked, but Prompto sends, _C’you. <3_

Noctis answers with just a heart emoji. 

Prompto clings to that for as long as he can.

* * *

He meant to talk to Noctis. He really did. 

But somehow he winds up bent over the desk in Noctis’ bedroom, his palms flat against the surface and his thighs digging into the side. Noctis’ hands are tight on his hips, fingers leaving pink grooves as dull teeth bite into Prompto’s shoulder. Prompto’s pants are around his ankles, his jacket on the floor and his shirt hanging open, bunched up around the small of his back, irreparably wrinkled. Noctis grinds deep inside him and moans into his throat.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. It’s not fair. Noctis has no right to be so _hot_ , to kiss so well, to set Prompto on fire everywhere he touches. Prompto presses back into Noctis’ body, hungrily embracing every thrust. Noctis pounds him into the counter without mercy. Prompto’s cock bounces off the tabletop, sometimes stinging, dripping precum onto the polished surface. He doesn’t want to touch himself. He knows he should try to come faster, should squeeze tighter around Noctis’ thick cock, but he doesn’t want to—he doesn’t want this to ever end. He just wants Noctis to fuck him, blissfully unaware and happy, for a small eternity.

Noctis is too good for that, of course. He adjusts, finding a new angle that makes Prompto _scream_. He shifts one arm around Prompto’s middle and runs the other down Prompto’s stomach, finding Prompto’s dick and wrapping fiercely around it. Noctis pants into his ear, “Don’t come yet.”

“’K... ay...” Prompto brokenly promises. In his head, he thinks: _Yes, Your Highness._ Noctis moans and presses his face into the crux of Prompto’s neck, audibly breathing in. Prompto shudders. He tries to arch back into Noctis’ body, feeling everything he can, but Noctis is still dressed and ramrod-straight. When Prompto twists back, Noctis kisses him.

As much as Prompto loves kissing Noctis, the angle’s too difficult. He gives up when his neck gets sore, slumping down over the desk again, and Noctis rewards him with more delicious thrusts. Noctis runs a hand down Prompto’s back, tracing his spine, and murmurs almost too low to hear over the slapping sounds and groaning, “So good, Prom... you’re always so good for me...”

Prompto whines happily. That’s all he really wants. He clenches his channel, and Noctis hums pleasantly, rubbing and squeezing Prompto’s ass when he reaches it. Prompto half sobs, “Noct—”

“Just a little more, baby,” Noctis promises. He sounds just as delirious as Prompto feels. He cradles Prompto’s cock but doesn’t stroke it, which is for the best, because Prompto’s too close to his end. He wants to savour it. He tries to. He can’t think. He shivers wherever Noctis touches him, always craving _more_.

Noctis gives a final thrust, slamming Prompto hard into the desk, hard enough to make it bang against the wall louder than all the other times, and he groans loudly as he comes. He grinds in his orgasm instead of pumping it out, filling Prompto up with cock and seed. He takes it in a dizzy haze and whimpers until Noctis strokes him. Noctis has completely finished, standing still and still buried to the hilt in Prompto’s ass, before he mutters, “You too, Prom. Come.”

Prompto obeys, twitching and spurting in Noctis’ generous grip. He ruins Noctis’ desk as Noctis strokes it out of him. He bends down to lean on the wall behind it as everything’s drained out of him. 

When Noctis pulls out and away, Prompto stumbles. He nearly trips out of his pants, then steps clumsily out of them while Noctis strolls over to the bed. Noctis drops onto it like a stone, still disheveled and sticky. Prompto plucks some tissues out of the box on the desk to wipe his cock off, then goes to the spot Noctis leaves open for him.

Lying flat on the mattress, pleasantly soaking in the afterglow like they always do, Noctis idly asks, “What did you want to say?”

Prompto does his best not to instantly deflate. He knew that was coming. He needs to talk. But Noctis addled his brains, and he feels too sluggish to tackle how deep his problem is, so he just mumbles, “Um... you first?”

Noctis frowns and looks away. He seems uncomfortable, which does nothing to ease Prompto’s nerves. It takes several tries of opening and closing his mouth before he finally starts, “What if I... paid your rent? Directly, instead of cash...?”

Prompto’s brows knit together in confusion. On his back, Noctis stares up at the ceiling. “You can totally say no to this. I know it’s crazy. You can just tell me if it’s too much or whatever, and I’ll never bring it up again, I swear.” Prompto would say whatever it is, it’s fine, expect Noctis rolls onto his side, catching Prompto’s eyes, and rushes, “What we have, Prompto, it’s... it’s great. It really is. But it’s not _enough_ , because my schedule’s so crazy, so it just feels like too many days where I want to see you and can’t. And, I mean, I wouldn’t even say anything, but you sorta sound like you don’t really like your apartment sometimes, so I just thought, hey, there are a bunch of ones on this floor waiting for the ‘right’ clients—the Crown has to approve them for my safety or whatever. But like, what if _you_ took one, and I paid the rent?”

Prompto’s totally _shocked_. It pretty much sounds like Noctis is asking for them to _move in together_. Which is, of course, insane. Like reading Prompto’s thoughts, Noctis’ cheeks slowly colour. Even though Prompto’s mind screams at him to shut up and take the incredible offer, he finds himself mumbling, “But... wouldn’t that look kinda suspicious...?”

“No!” Noctis shakes his head. “That’s what’s so brilliant about it—if anyone from the Citadel asks, we can just say it’s mine and I needed more space—I mean, I pretty much grew up in a palace, and when I moved out, Dad told me I’d never make it in a tiny apartment anyway—so I could just say it’s for my storage and for when Ignis stays over or whatever, except you stay over a lot too because you’re a school friend that helps me study and can share the commute.”

Prompto feels... weirdly weightless. He’d thought he was coming over to get dumped, or fired, or whatever, but instead he’s being offered a place at Noctis’ side. It feels too good to be true. It _is_ too good to work—he knows that. But the mere thought of it still makes him buzz with delight. 

When Prompto takes too long to say anything, Noctis mutters, “I mean... I know you probably want your own space, but I just thought...”

“No,” Prompto cuts in. “I mean, uh...” He should take it. He can’t take it. He struggles so long that he can see the worry eating Noctis up, but in the end, all he can decide is, “I... can I have some time to think about it?” Noctis’ face falls, but it’s the best Prompto can do. He can’t really say _yes_.

He thought things were already getting out of hand. Now they’ve spun so wildly out of control that he can’t even see the road anymore. He knows that an apartment in Noctis’ building, a luxurious place in a prime location, is worth far more than the money he currently receives. But he can’t seem to make himself say _no_. He splutters the excuse, “I, uh, would have to talk to my parents...”

Noctis softens in visible relief. “Right. Of course.”

And Noctis should probably talk to his, because they’ve only known each other for several months, which isn’t enough to move a stranger in with royalty. It’s all so much at once. 

Evidently appeased, Noctis asks, “So, what was your thing?”

Paling, Prompto lies, “Um, I... guess I forgot.” Donning a weak smile, he mumbles, “You musta fucked it outta me.”

He can’t do it now. He just can’t. Unaware of everything horrible that Prompto is, Noctis grins and shifts closer to kiss him.


	8. -Give

On the days that Prompto has later classes or winds up sticking around to use the school’s advanced computers, it’s not unusual to pass Ignis’ car parked outside their campus. It _is_ unusual to see Ignis standing beside it, leaning on the passenger door, arms coolly crossed over his purple coeurl-shirt button-up. It makes Prompto do a double take, and he stops to awkwardly smile, lifting his hand in a small wave. Ignis, for the most part, has been quite kind to Prompto, even though he puts so much into keeping Noctis on task, and Prompto never does anything but undo that. Usually, Ignis will smile back if they happen to pass each other.

Ignis doesn’t smile this time. His frown doesn’t budge. Worse still, he calls, “Prompto,” and gestures over.

Prompto’s steps falter. He knows if he lingers, he’ll miss the bus, but that’s not what worries him. He hesitates a few seconds before walking over, checking behind him on the way to check if Noctis is coming. Then it might make sense. But Noctis is nowhere to be seen, and Prompto’s forced to reach Ignis alone.

“You and Noctis seem to be seeing a lot of each other,” Ignis starts, which instantly enflames Prompto’s fear. 

He shuffles his feet and mutters, “Um, I guess...”

“So I must ask if you have any notion as to what Noctis is spending so much money on.” Prompto blanches. The world seems to fade out around him, honing in on Ignis’ lips, and Ignis’ voice slows and quiets, replaced by a low buzzing as anxiety sets in. “I manage his accounts, and I’ve noticed a drastic increase in activity in the last several months. He hasn’t been particularly forthcoming with me, but I’d hoped you might be willing to shed some light on the situation. It’s for his own good that I know and can advise him better. In fact, I would even go so far as to say it’s your duty as a Lucian citizen to help his handlers take better care of your prince...”

Prompto can barely form a sentence in his own mind. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He can’t say the truth, of course, but he never thought he’d have to _lie_ for Noctis, but of course he can’t _betray_ Noctis...

Somehow, he hears his own voice meekly answering, “I don’t know...”

Ignis’ brows lift above the rims of his slender glasses. He clearly doesn’t believe it, but Prompto can’t say anything else. His heart’s beating too loud—it echoes in his ears. Then it all becomes exponentially worse, because Ignis, with the same unreadable expression, quietly admits, “I’ve seen certain... pictures... of the two of you in Noctis’ wallet.”

Prompto’s ears are ringing. He couldn’t defend himself if he wanted to. He just _stares_ at Ignis as Ignis caries on, “And I can’t help but have noticed a certain... aroma... to Noctis’ room after you’ve been over... I am sorry to put you on the spot like this, but I must ask if the two of you are dating.”

 _Dating_. He caught the money and the sex and just thinks they’re _dating_. Maybe that should be a relief, because the suspicions could be so much worse, but it doesn’t help Prompto at all. He’s never felt so uncomfortable. Ignis is clearly waiting for an answer, but Prompto’s mouth is irreparably glued shut. He doesn’t want to get Noctis in trouble. He doesn’t want to make things any worse. He should probably deny it, but he _can’t_. 

After a long moment, Ignis uncrosses his arms. His posture relaxes, and he lets out a withered sigh. He glances over Prompto’s shoulder and seems to conclude that they’re alone enough, because he carefully says, “I want Noctis to be happy, Prompto. And I would like him to be able to choose who he sees, albeit without financially spoiling a partner... but he _is_ our prince, and there will be complications.”

There’s already giant complications, and they’re not even _dating_. Somehow, Prompto never thought before how it would look for _Noctis_ if the prince were caught sleeping with a Nif. The thought makes him physically sick. 

Ignis looks over Prompto again. The next thing Prompto knows, Noctis is sauntering up to his side, bag slumping over one shoulder and cologne filling Prompto’s senses. Noctis grunts, “Hey, Iggy,” then touches Prompto’s arm and asks, “Hey, you free tonight—?”

Ignis clears his throat, and Noctis corrects, “After nine. I have a meeting.”

Ignis saves Prompto from speaking. He chides, “That’s a little late to be having friends over.”

“Chill out, we’re just gonna study,” Noctis lies, so easily and slickly, even though Prompto knows that Ignis knows. Noctis doesn’t seem to see it—but then, he’s busy looking at Prompto.

For the first time, Prompto says, “No.”

Noctis’ lips part, not _quite_ falling open. His face goes neutral again a second later, probably well honed from years spent in the spotlight, but Prompto still saw his shock.

Prompto mutters, “’M busy.” He can only hope that Noctis doesn’t think he’s breaking his promise and going off to be with someone else.

Noctis answers tightly, “Okay,” but Prompto knows Noctis is disappointed. The mask might’ve fooled him once, but they’ve gotten to know each other too well. He’d thought that at least Ignis would be pleased, but Ignis’ frown seems to fractionally deepen.

Prompto mumbles, “Um, I gotta... catch the bus...” and then just sort of backs off. When he turns away from them, he doesn’t sprint like he wants to. His legs aren’t working well enough for it.

He’s relieved when their black car passes by him a few minutes later, but still broken up inside.

* * *

He stares at the kettle as it heats his water, the dry cup noodles lying next to it on the counter. After a clipped and vague phone call from his parents for the first time in a month, he still feels wholly _lonely_. His father claimed to be proud of him, and his mother said she missed him. But they hardly asked about his classes and probably won’t be home again for another half a year. He knows that even when they do show up, it won’t really fix things. 

He’s going to have a Noctis-shaped hole in his life. While the kettle starts to hum, not yet into a hiss, he scrolls through the contacts in his phone. He wonders if he should call Leon up and ask for a quickie, free of charge—just something to eat him up inside, so he can go to Noctis and say he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be exclusive. Then Noctis might be furious and fire him.

It’d be easier if Noctis left him. He should probably _make_ Noctis leave him—just be horrible for a little while. He doesn’t know if he could really do that. Then his phone buzzes, starting: _Hey._

Prompto tells himself to just ignore it. It’d be easier. But he answers, _Hey._

_You free on Saturday? I wanna hang with you._

Prompto wants that. He doesn’t say it. This time he waits, because he _can’t_ do it again. The kettle screams and goes untouched. Prompto hears the button click, signifying that it’s finished. He doesn’t touch it.

He hesitates way too long. Noctis asks: _Did I do something wrong?_

Their first fight feels awful. If it’s even a fight. The prelude to one, maybe. Prompto takes too long again but finally answers, _No._

_Okay... Saturday? Or some other time...?_

It’s hard to tell over text whether Noctis really believes him or not. Prompto doesn’t know what to say. He can’t do Saturday. He can’t do ever. 

He forces himself to pour the water into his noodles just for something to do. Unfortunately, his stomach’s too messed up to eat them after. His phone buzzes again.

_You sure I didn’t do anything?_

Against all his better judgment, Prompto breaks. 

_You didn’t do anything. I’m sorry. Ignis talked to me._

_What? About what?_

_He knows you’ve been spending a lot of money..._

_Shit. I’m sorry._

There’s more, but Prompto doesn’t get a chance to say it, because Noctis adds in a wall of text that takes two to go through: _We can still make it work. He can’t actually stop me—I’m under my limit. Have you thought about the moving in idea? I know it sounds crazy, but if I’m just paying rent he knows about then he won’t see any weird spending, but it’ll sorta still be money to you? If that counts? I mean I totally get if you want your own space or your own money to do what you want with._

So much for a fight. A second later, Noctis adds, _I’ll talk to Ignis. He shouldn’t be bugging you like that. It won’t happen again, I promise._

On sheer instinct, Prompto sends: _It’s okay._ Even though it’s not.

This time, Noctis is the one that doesn’t answer right away. So Prompto continues, _I don’t want to be a bother._

_You’re not, I promise. Seriously, I can make him buy the extra space thing._

Prompto still hesitates. Noctis says: _I want you, Prom. I know my title makes it weird, but to me, it’s worth it._

Prompto automatically counters, _Your title’s not weird._

 _It is. And Ignis is weird. And asking you to move next door is. But I can make it work if you want to._

Prompto wants to more than anything. More than Noctis could believe. 

But living next to Noctis, as much as it would be a dream, would be a nightmare—all it would take is Noctis popping over at the wrong time to see the barcode. Proof of Prompto’s lies.

That’s not something Prompto can say over the phone. The barcode is something that has to be seen to be believed. With a deep breath, Prompto types: _Can we talk in person?_

_Yeah. Saturday._

_Okay... can we do my place this time...?_ He figures it’ll be easier; he can just stay put and mope after Noctis inevitably storms out, rather than having to catch a cab in tears.

_Sure. See you then._

There. He has a deadline. And he should end it there, but he’s shaking and can’t let go just yet. He needs one more moment. 

He sends: _Noct?_

_Yeah?_

_Thanks. <3_

* * *

It’s ridiculously late by the time that Noctis rings his doorbell. It’s not a surprise—Prompto got texts throughout the day, every time something was pushed a little later or something new cropped up. Prompto probably should’ve suggested they reschedule, but he can’t wait any longer. Noctis didn’t suggest it either. And now it’s really happening. Prompto’s a nervous wreck. In plain skinny jeans and a hoodie, he opens up the door, revealing the gorgeous prince of his dreams in all royal black. Beyond the curb, he can see Ignis in the driver’s seat of his car. Prompto tries to make himself smile. Noctis steps inside, and the car pulls away.

Noctis kicks off his shoes in silence. Prompto would like to think that he’s just tired, but it’s more likely that he can sense something’s wrong. As they amble into the apartment, Prompto asks, “Do you, uh... want anything to eat...?”

“Nah.” 

Prompto nods. He skipped dinner—he was too anxious for it. Still is. When they reach the living room, Noctis rounds on him, asking with a frown, “What’s wrong?”

Prompto opens his mouth to answer but fails. For whatever reason, he grabs Noctis’ hand, and he leads Noctis further in, around the corner and into his bedroom. Noctis follows without a word. Prompto settles onto the mattress and resists the urge to wrap himself up in a depressing cocoon of blankets. 

Noctis sits next to him, close enough that their knees touch. Prompto’s grateful that the contact ends there—that Noctis doesn’t try to kiss him. As much as he wants to forget it all and drown in sex, he knows that won’t help anything. When he doesn’t offer any explanation, Noctis ventures first, “Is this about Ignis?”

“No.” Prompto shakes his head. “It’s me. I... I have to get something off my chest...” Noctis visibly tenses up, though he couldn’t possibly have guessed the truth. Prompto struggles with the words.

Then he holds out his right hand, hovering between them until Noctis looks at it. Prompto can see that his whole arm’s shaking. He hooks two fingers into his sleeve and drags it down. The dim, fluorescent light of his bedroom washes over the black bars of his tattoo, bracketed in with diamonds. 

Noctis stares at it. Prompto tries to judge his expression, but it’s blank. After a moment, he glances back to Prompto’s face and asks, “What is it?”

Prompto winces. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to explain. But of course he would. It’s not like it’s common knowledge. _Prompto_ doesn’t even understand its full implications, just the drips and drabs that he dragged out of his parents. Apparently, Lucis doesn’t have special intel on it. Or at least, not that they’ve told their prince. 

Prompto’s tongue feels like its made of lead. When Noctis tries to connect their eyes, Prompto has to avert his. He mumbles thickly, “It’s... a barcode...” Noctis can probably see that. But it’s not a decorative tattoo. “It’s a _production_ code from... whatever the Empire does with its citizens...” In the corner of his eye, Prompto can see Noctis’ go wide. Prompto swallows. He pushes on, “I’m not really a citizen, Noct. I... I don’t really _get_ why I have this, but... but I know it’s from _there_. And that I’m not technically on file in Lucis...”

“But...” Noctis mutters, and Prompto quiets for the interruption. “You have to be... you’re in school...”

With a huge sense of guilt, Prompto dully admits, “My parents are scientists. They work in research positions outside of the capitol now, but they both worked for the university in the past. That’s how they managed to fudge my way in... but... I know I wouldn’t hold up to a job’s background check...” He laughs nervously, and it comes out sounding hollow and fake. The words keep spilling out of his mouth, but every single one pulls him tauter, and he already feels like he’s going to shatter. “I mean, I wanted to be a freelance photographer anyway, so no background checks for that...”

“And that’s why you were having sex for money,” Noctis cuts in, voice suddenly sharp, harsh, but Prompto tightly shakes his head. Breathing’s almost a chore. 

“No. I didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t like that—it was just that someone offered, and... I don’t know, it was easy with him, I didn’t really think about it, but that’s not the point—Noct, I’m a _Nif_ —”

A hand clamps around his wrist. He’s shaking violently now, but Noctis holds him firm, lowering his arm back down and holding on. Noctis’ skin feels like it’s burning into him. 

Noctis says, “It doesn’t matter.” It sounds so strong, so _sure_. Prompto looks at Noctis and finds the image blurry—his eyes might be wet. He doesn’t have enough control of his body to wipe them away.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Noctis repeats, now looking right into Prompto, and Prompto couldn’t look away if he wanted to. He’s transfixed. Noctis tells him, “We’ll _make_ you a citizen. Ignis will know what to do.”

Prompto opens and closes his mouth several times. Nothing comes out. He can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Noctis goes on like it’s nothing, “You’ve been here since you were a kid, right? I’ve heard you mention stuff before—didn’t you say we went to the same elementary school? Then you should have as much right to be here as anyone else; it doesn’t matter if you’ve got some weird tattoo...”

“ _Noct_ ,” Prompto chokes out. Noctis hardens.

“I’m serious, Prompto. You don’t treat me like a prince—you’re with me regardless of what family I was born to. So why should I treat you like anything different?”

Prompto tries to say _thank you_ , but then he really is crying. He winds up just making a weak little noise, born from _years_ of holding in an enormous ball of fear, all pouring out in an instant. He knows Noctis can’t really fix it with a snap of his fingers, but just to be able to _tell_ someone else, and to be _accepted_ anyway, is worth so much. Even better that it’s Noctis. Prompto uses his free hand to try and scrub the tears away.

Through that mess, he feels and sees Noctis lifting Prompto’s wrist again and pressing a chaste kiss against the barcode. Then Noctis is pushing Prompto’s other arm away and kissing his chin. Noctis cups his cheek, lightly thumbs the tears away, and turns Prompto to face him, pressing their foreheads together. 

Noctis murmurs, “I’m sorry, Prom. I had no idea you were living with that. But... please don’t leave me over this.” Prompto makes a choked sobbing noise. 

Noctis pulls him into a thick, fierce hug that seems to crush away the last of Prompto’s pain. He melts into the embrace, snapping and slumping forward into Noctis’ arms. Noctis cradles him close. 

Prompto doesn’t want to leave. He can’t believe he doesn’t have to. His weight slowly pulls Noctis down, until they’re flat across his bed, clinging to one another as years of tremours wrack Prompto’s body. Noctis soothes them all away. Noctis won’t let go of him. Prompto doesn’t want him to. 

It goes on for far too long. It’s embarrassing but too hard to stop. Eventually, Noctis detangles from him long enough to turn out the light and come back and tuck them in. Then they still lie together, still holding on, Prompto too emotionally drained to speak. For once, he passes out first, safely nestled in Noctis’ arms.


	9. Peace

It takes Noctis a little while to wake up. When he first stirs, it’s because the ground’s dipping, and he groggily registers that someone’s getting out of bed, but he’s too comfortable to follow and still half asleep. He dips back into his dream, where he’s a small child again, wandering around his father’s enormous office, following a familiar creature. In the distance, water’s running, but muffled. In the dream, he thinks it’s rain outside the windows. When that dream’s dissipated too much to get back, he realizes it’s because someone’s in the washroom.

He’s in a low, rumpled bed. He’s stiffer than usual—still fully dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and his mouth is stale—he should’ve brushed his teeth, even if it was just with his finger. He should have a toothbrush at Prompto’s house. His pillow smells like Prompto, and for a few extra minutes, Noctis just lingers in that pleasantness. He’s not the type to get out of bed if he doesn’t have to.

But then he gets too thirsty, and more importantly, he remembers what happened last night. It doesn’t really change anything for _him_ —doesn’t make him any less happy to be snuggled up in Prompto’s bed. But it makes him wonder how Prompto’s doing, and that’s ultimately what makes him rise. He pauses for a yawn, then ambles out of the bedroom, bee-lining for the washroom where he can still hear the water going. 

The door isn’t locked, so Noctis makes an executive decision to let himself in. He does stop himself from actually getting _in_ the shower, though he wishes Prompto had transparent glass doors instead of an opaque shower curtain, so he could at least see it. Unsure of what to really say, he goes for the sink instead, scooping some water into his mouth to rinse and swallow. 

“Noct?”

Noctis glances up to find Prompto peeking around the shower curtain, pink with steam and glowing with moisture, his normally upswept hair slicked down around his face. Noctis’ eyes automatically fall to the part of the shower curtain that’s hiding _more_ , and he answers around another yawn, “Prom.” Then, because he knows it’s probably wrong to just bust in, “Sorry, was just gonna borrow some toothpaste...”

Prompto flushes pinker. There’s a light frown on his face, but he looks more unsure than upset. “Okay, um...”

Suddenly, Noctis clues into something he’d been missing all along. “Wait... you wouldn’t have showers with me before because of the barcode, right...?”

If possible, Prompto blushes even darker. “Yeah.”

“Not ‘cause you have some weird shower thing.”

Prompto finally cracks a small smile. He shifts positions, glancing away, shrugs his shoulders and awkwardly asks, “Um, do you wanna...?” Noctis waits, resisting the urge to finish the sentence just in case he’s wrong. When Noctis says nothing, Prompto sighs and finishes, looking adorably hopeful, “Join me?”

Noctis doesn’t even waste time answering. He just grins and pulls his shirt over her head, tossing it aimlessly aside, and steps out of his underwear and pants, hopping out of his socks. Prompto’s eyes linger on him, trailing down his body, while Noctis stalks forward with an early hunger and delight barely kept in check. Prompto steps back under the spray as he arrives, making room for him within the tub.

The washroom’s already warm from all the steam, and the water’s probably been going too long, but Noctis leaves it. He joins Prompto under the nozzle more to get at Prompto then the water, which hits him with welcome pressure, just a few degrees hotter than he’d pick. He wants to take a moment just to _look_ at Prompto, gorgeous and soaked, but he can’t resist closing the space between them immediately. He kisses Prompto hard, and Prompto wastes no time in kissing him back. 

It’s like the tension never happened. When they part, Prompto’s grinning, and he’s right on Noctis again, turning on Noctis to press him back into the tile wall and kiss him thoroughly. It takes Noctis out of the water, but it doesn’t matter, because Prompto’s body flattens into him, intensely _hotter_. Their chests are glued together, Noctis’ stomach tickled by some of the hair between Prompto’s legs, and Prompto’s soft cock presses into his thigh. It doesn’t stay soft long. The more they kiss, the harder Noctis gets, and Prompto’s not far behind. 

Every once in awhile, Noctis catches a stray sliver of black in his peripherals, standing out amidst all of Prompto’s pastel peaches and yellows. As Prompto shifts a trail of kisses down Noctis’ neck, he catches a glimpse of the barcode in its entirety, trying to slide between them—Prompto’s hand curves around Noctis’ hip, running down to cup his cock. Noctis groans and clutches Prompto’s back. The barcode doesn’t bother him. It doesn’t _mean_ anything to him—he’s never seen one like it before and wouldn’t have even known it came from Niflheim if Prompto didn’t tell him. But he really doesn’t care where Prompto’s from. He feels nothing but _pleasure_ as Prompto squeezes his cock and starts to slowly stroke him. He threads his fingers through Prompto’s wet hair and pulls Prompto back to his mouth, closing in for another sloppy kiss. 

Holding Prompto against him with one hand, Noctis uses the other to explore—he’s traced Prompto’s body so many times, but it feels vaguely _different_ now: there’s really _nothing_ between them. He knows Prompto’s deepest secret. Prompto doesn’t have a stitch of clothing left. And the water makes everything shine, makes it warm, makes it easy to slip quickly across Prompto’s skin. He winds up devolving into just kneading Prompto’s ass until Prompto starts whimpering into his mouth, choking out between kisses, “N-Noct, please—”

Noct gets it. He’s already so hard in Prompto’s hand. He can feel Prompto poking into his thigh. He comes around to the front and wraps around Prompto’s shaft, pumping it in time with how Prompto’s touching him.

The two of them are a mess. There’s no regard for actual cleanliness or where the water is—they just make out and hump one another until the pressure’s pooling in Noctis’ groin and he _needs_ release. He moans as he comes in Prompto’s grip, slicking both of them up. His hand slows as his orgasm takes over. He slumps against the wall, but Prompto keeps bucking into him and finishes a moment later, groaning and splattering Noctis’ stomach. Then Prompto’s weight is on him. 

Noctis likes it that way. Prompto wraps both arms around him and just sort of envelops him for a while.

Then they clean off, escaping before the water starts getting cold.

* * *

Once he’s dry, it takes no time at all for Noctis to climb back into his clothes, but he enjoys sitting on Prompto’s bed and watching Prompto change. Prompto blushes the whole way through it, like they haven’t seen each other naked too many times to count, and he keeps casting dopey grins at Noctis. Noctis loves it. It’s a Sunday morning with nothing to do but watch Prompto’s cute butt wriggle into boxers, and that’s all Noctis wants out of life. 

When Prompto’s finished the day’s fresh ensemble, dark skinny jeans and a plaid tank top, complete with the familiar green-and-white wristband, he suggests, “I’ll make breakfast.”

“Sounds great.”

“Like, help-I’m-a-hopeless-college-boy breakfast, not like, Iggy-level breakfast.”

Noctis laughs, “Just don’t sneak any vegetables into it, and it’ll be better.”

Prompto salutes his promise and heads off for the kitchen. Noctis gets up to follow but doesn’t make it very far—his phone pulls him back.

Gladiolus has sent: _You’re late._

Which is true. Noctis completely forgot about practice. But he’s not ruining one of the best mornings he’s ever had with that. He answers truthfully, _Sorry, something important came up._

Gladiolus answers, dripping in unspoken sarcasm, _Your girlfriend alright?_

Noctis knows it’s just teasing. Gladiolus probably does mean Prompto, and he’s just poking fun. But it has a sobering effect.

It reminds him that they’re _not_ boyfriends. And part of his happy glow was that, in the midst of deeper confessions, he’d forgotten all about the money. 

He doesn’t answer Gladiolus. He wanders to the kitchen with the sort of sinking feeling he really didn’t want today, though he tries to hold it back. He _was_ having fun. No sense ruining it. And the sight of Prompto standing at the stove, cooking up eggs for him, is almost enough to pick his spirits back up.

It would be really easy to just keep acting like they’ve been going, but that isn’t fair to Prompto—he didn’t pay for last night, and hand-jobs in the shower and breakfast in the morning should count as billable. He still puts it off, trying to bask in the moment as long as he possibly can, but only a minute or two later, he makes himself say, “I need to run out.”

Prompto looks back at him, surprised, then maybe disappointed. “But... I already put in an egg for you.”

It’s so weirdly _domestic_ that Noctis can’t help but want to permanently install Prompto in his life—setting Prompto up in that apartment on his floor, or maybe in _his_ apartment. He wouldn’t actually need breakfast everyday. A balance of Ignis and instant products are good enough. But every once in a while, this would be _perfect_ to wake up to.

Noctis shrugs that away. “I’ll come back, if you’re okay with that. I just have to grab some cash.” Prompto’s face completely _drops_. Noctis scratches the back of his head and mutters, “I should go a few blocks away though, and have Ignis pick me up somewhere else... I need to be careful now that he’s paying more attention to my account...” And his apartment idea would solve everything, but Noctis doesn’t bring that up again. 

Prompto just sort of stares at him. The eggs go on audibly sizzling. Then Prompto turns back to them and mumbles, “We need to talk.”

“Again?” That wasn’t what Noctis wanted to hear. He can’t read any cues from Prompto’s back so comes against the counter, peering over at Prompto’s face. A million and one other problems jump up in Noctis’ mind—maybe Prompto needs a raise, maybe he really does want to end it, maybe he wants to be paid in immigration help—Noctis cuts them off by lamely joking, “I didn’t see any more marks.”

Prompto smiles shallowly. “Can we eat first? I don’t wanna burn them...”

Noctis says, “Okay,” because he can’t say anything else.

* * *

The eggs are plain, which is better than eggs full of diced zucchini and carrots and other gross things. They put the television on for the noise, but neither of them really pays attention to the boring game show that comes on. At least, Noctis doesn’t. And he doesn’t think Prompto’s watching either, because he knows Prompto better than that. 

Eventually, their breakfast is gone, and Noctis leans over for the remote and flicks off the distraction. Their plates sit empty on the coffee table. Prompto keeps looking at the blank screen. Noctis says, “I can’t wait anymore. What now?”

Prompto takes in a long, drawn out breath. Noctis already knows it’s going to be another bumpy conversation, though Prompto at least seems a lot calmer than he did last night. He’s not shaking anymore. But he does seem sort of _resigned_. He doesn’t meet Noctis’ eyes when he says, “I don’t want you to pay me anymore.”

Noctis immediately stiffens. He feels cold. He hates even asking, “Is it over?”

“No.” Prompto answers quickly and fervently enough that some of Noctis’ fears dissipate. Prompto finally looks at him, only to shift uncomfortably and hesitate. Prompto bites his bottom lip, which inevitably draws Noctis’ eyes, but he knows they can’t afford to devolve into making out again. Whatever it is on Prompto’s mind, it needs to be out on the table. Everything does. With another deep breath, Prompto finally says, “Noct... I want you.”

Noctis blinks. “What?”

“Like, really want you. I like being with you. Love it, actually—half the time I feel like _I_ should be the one paying _you_.” Turning suddenly red, Prompto corrects, “I mean, not that you’re like _that_ , I know you wouldn’t, I just mean—” He cuts himself off, swearing under his breath and finishing, “Look, I just feel super guilty about getting money from you for stuff I totally _want_ to be doing and _would_ be doing anyway. I pretty much have the whole time. I would’ve done all that stuff anyway, but then you seemed to want the arrangement, so I just thought...”

Noctis dully repeats, “ _The whole time?_ ”

Looking slightly queasy, Prompto nods. 

Noctis... doesn’t understand. “But... you were already doing it... you’ve got others...”

“ _Had_ others. And... I sorta stopped seeing them even before you asked for exclusivity...” Prompto scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking anywhere but Noctis. But the thought of _others_ doesn’t bother Noctis as much anymore, because he’s bizarrely positive those are gone and don’t matter now. “I dunno, it was different with them. I didn’t feel bad taking money from them. Well, not that much, I know I’m not that experienced, so kinda felt bad I wasn’t a great professional, but like, I didn’t want something different out of them, but with you, I...” He trails off.

Noctis doesn’t have any words. He waits, and finally, Prompto mumbles, whisper-quiet, “I just want you. I don’t care about your money. I just want to be with you.”

Noctis is the one to say the word: “Like... _boyfriends_.”

Prompto bites his lip again and slowly nods. 

Noctis... melts.

He feels immediately light. Airy. So _relieved_. Prompto’s bristling anxiously, but Noctis still needs a few seconds to process it. 

Then he says, “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Prompto’s expression wipes blank in surprise. “What?”

“Let’s do it. Be boyfriends. No more money. Except, like, gifts and shit.”

“But...” Prompto’s brain looks like it’s breaking just as much as Noctis’ is. “I mean, you’re a prince... there’s protocol, and I’m not even—”

That’s the last thing Noctis wants to hear, so he doesn’t—he smashes a hard kiss into Prompto’s mouth, cutting it off and sealing them in. Prompto squeaks against him, and Noctis lingers as long as he wants to. When he does pull back again, Prompto’s speechless. 

Spluttering uselessly, Prompto launches back at him. He’s pulled into a crushing hug that he returns just as fiercely. 

He knows it’s not a perfect solution. Having no other job has left Prompto available to him whenever his own hectic schedule allows it, and now Prompto will need _some_ source of income. But next to the well of emotional turmoil Noctis has had, it doesn’t seem so big a problem. There’s still his moving in idea. At least then Prompto wouldn’t have to worry about rent. It takes considerable will power to resist asking Prompto to move in with him right after asking Prompto to officially go out with him. He knows they should wait a little while. He doesn’t want to pressure Prompto. Besides, Ignis will need smaller steps at a time.

Ignis will need to know. Maybe so will Gladiolus. And nobody else yet. But that really doesn’t matter. What matters is that he can stay with Prompto as long as he wants and just _enjoy it_.

Prompto seems to read his mine, muttering into his shoulder, “Ignis is gonna kill us.”

Somehow, Noctis manages to shrug without dislodging Prompto. “Eh, he’ll get over it. He wants me to be happy. And you make me happy.”

Prompto snorts at the cheesy line. He pulls back enough to playfully shove Noctis, then peck Noctis’ lips. Another few kisses, and he wistfully sighs, “This is too good to be true.”

“I know the feeling.”

Prompto practically purrs and nuzzles into him. For a moment, they just goofily look at one another. 

Then Prompto points out, “I know we just got off in the shower, but... I could go again.”

Noctis instantly agrees, “Yeah. ...But how about you direct it, this time.”

“Pfft.” Prompto jovially pushes him back. Noctis lets the momentum shove him down across the cushions. Grinning like a cat, Prompto eagerly climbs on.

* * *

“I already knew.”

Noctis swallows his surprise and grunts, “Oh.” And then he mentally kicks himself for ever thinking he could outsmart Ignis. He wasn’t trying hard enough to hide it anyway. He picks at the blanket underneath him, perched at the edge of his bed. It’s tucked in tight—the first and only time he’s ever made his own bed without prompting. His whole apartment’s uncharacteristically tidy. He wanted Ignis in a good mood. Sitting in the chair at Noctis’ desk, Ignis wears an unreadable expression. 

“At least, I expected as much. I could certainly see that you had feelings for him, at least, and the money disparity began around the same time that you began bringing him over.”

“He’s not a gold digger,” Noctis quickly throws in, which was a concern from the beginning—that Ignis would think that. The press probably will. Things will be hard enough for Prompto without the people closest to Noctis judging him too harshly. Out in the living room, Gladiolus makes a loud cheer; he must’ve won their match. Gladiolus and Prompto are gaming on the couch, Ignis’ home-cooked pizza in the oven, and Noctis said he was going to check some homework. It just took one look to have Ignis following him. They’ve closed the door, but Gladiolus could below through any wall.

Ignis nods and thankfully doesn’t argue. “I believe you. The circumstances do suggest otherwise, but having met Prompto, and seeing the way you are together... it’s clear enough that he genuinely returns your feelings.”

Noctis’ heart does a little flip. He just wishes _he’d_ seen that from the beginning. Now he can’t un-see it, and Ignis’ confirmation is just icing on the cake. Noctis still says, “He never asked for anything. I pretty much thrust the money on him... and when we finally worked it out, he offered to give it all back.” Noctis wouldn’t take it, of course. Prompto has bills that Noctis doesn’t. Ignis sighs. 

The stern mask slips into a softer look of concern, the sort of vulnerable thing that Ignis reserves for those he truly cares about. He murmurs, “I’m sorry, Noctis, that you felt you had to pay for affection. I know your title’s always been something of a struggle for you... but I’m glad that’s over now, even if the situation is less than ideal.”

Noctis just nods, because getting into it any deeper would open wounds he doesn’t want to touch. And it doesn’t matter now anyway. Then he realizes that Ignis doesn’t just mean the money ‘situation’—they have more problems than that.

He bitterly acknowledges, “I know. The council will start trying to shove proper suitors on me eventually...”

“Yes, and you’ll have to politely rebuff them and potentially fight for your own rights.”

Noctis opens his mouth, caught off guard. That wasn’t at all what he expected Ignis to say. Ignis continues, utterly serious, “I want you to be happy, Noct. I want you to be with someone who truly loves you and that you love as well. Maybe by the time you need to start thinking about settling down, you won’t still be with Prompto... but if you are, well... I believe it would do Insomnia some good to have a prince so accepting.” Shock numbs Noctis out. He stares as Ignis promises, “When you’re ready, I’ll support you if you want to come out. I’m sure Gladio will too. In the meantime, the truth can be tweaked easily enough; you’re believable as friends... assuming the immense monetary transactions stop, of course. And if any nosy reporter ever finds out and asks, we can always say that you were just helping a less fortunate friend out with tuition.”

Ignis makes it sound so _easy_. Or at least so sensible. He doesn’t know the worst of it—what the press would say if they discovered their prince was dating a Nif. But with Ignis’ perspective, it makes Noctis think that that could be a good thing, too—if he’s going to uphold a monarchy, he at least wants one that treats _all_ of its citizens fairly, regardless of their gender, sexuality, or birthplace.

A familiar sense of gratitude wells in Noctis when he looks at Ignis. He knows he often takes his support system for granted, but Ignis in particular always goes above and beyond. It almost makes him wish he’d told Ignis the truth that first day he brought Prompto home. Except that would’ve been ridiculously awkward, and maybe none of the sex would’ve happened. And the sex was great. Everything worked out in the end, so maybe he wouldn’t mess with it after all. 

He tells Ignis, “Thank you,” and hopes it carries all the sincerity he feels. Ignis finally smiles. 

“Of course, if I ever _do_ find out he’s using you for sex or money, the Six themselves won’t be able to save him.”

Noctis automatically snorts. “Not a chance, Specs. He’s perfect.”

“Apparently. You’ve been much happier since finding him.”

Noctis dons one of those smiles that’s so wide and pleasant that it’s almost sore. Ignis returns it. 

Another cheer pierces the walls, this time from Prompto. Obviously, they’re having a lot of fun. And Noctis and Ignis are missing out.

“Should we go back now?”

Ignis checks his watch. “Yes, we should have time for... about one match before dinner’s ready.”

Pushing off the bed, Noctis follows Ignis out into his apartment. Gladiolus and Prompto are right where they were left, both engrossed in the screen, though Prompto looks up when they get close enough. Noctis shares a reassuring smile, and Prompto grins with obvious relief. Noctis settles in beside him, an arm slotting casually around his waist, and Ignis squeezes between Noctis and Gladiolus, cramming all four of them onto the couch. Noctis owns exactly four controllers, although this is the first time all four have been used.

It feels _right_.

Noctis presses a kiss against his boyfriend’s cheek just because he _can_ , waits for a new match to start up, and presses ‘go.’


End file.
